


Ultraviolet

by whovianbard



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Complete, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-03-02 11:48:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 69,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13317459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whovianbard/pseuds/whovianbard
Summary: A young girl had died, horribly, and the Rift, and by association Torchwood, was to blame. But they were stretched so thin now, just three broken warriors to fight the monsters. Something had to give. And Jack Harkness was scared...Set immediately before Children of Earth





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally posted on fanfiction.net in 2010, howerver it appears here in a slightly modified and updated form.

It might be a good day to ditch school, Katie Thompson contemplated, as she drew back her thick, dark blue curtains and perused the grey slate roofs of Penarth. It was the first day in three weeks that the morning sky was not leaden with heavy clouds of gunmetal grey, and the panes of glass were not fogged with mizzling rain. She hated that sort of rain. It didn't seem to fall but rather pervaded the air, clinging to clothes and hair, as if you were walking inside a rain cloud. Besides, it did really nasty things to her hair!

Today though, white wispy clouds scudded high up across a sky of palest blue and the sun, still misty from the dawn, was slowly clearing the horizon of rooftops. All in all, a nice day. Add to that the fact that it was Wednesday which meant double maths, double chemistry and two hours on a muddy hockey pitch getting her ankles smashed by sticks of wood, and Katie's mind was made up.

Decision made, Katie sat at her dressing table with renewed enthusiasm for the day and stared at herself critically in the mirror. Her hair, a becoming shade of pale copper, needed straightening. Again. Every morning she would spend twenty minutes, ceramic straighteners in hand, taming her unfortunately kinked hair (her mother kindly described it as wavy) into a glossy, sleek mane. By the time she reached the bus stop, all her hard work would be undone, the rain reducing the beautiful bob into a tangled halo of frizz. At least today there was some chance she might keep her style long enough to catch the bus into town.

She applied a touch of foundation to cover the smattering of freckles sprinkled across her cheeks and nose. As far as her mother was concerned, it was to protect her skin from the sun; but for her, masking her imperfections was infinitely more important. A touch of eyeliner, a dab of lip-gloss and she was done. Anymore and she might draw the attention of her mother's vivid emerald eyes with their uncanny ability to detect mascara at a hundred paces. As she tripped down the stairs, Katie tried to keep her face subdued, a suitable expression for a Wednesday at St Cyres School.

As it happened she needn't have worried. Her mother never raised her eyes from the letter she was reading. Judging by the coarse brown envelope discarded on the table and the vague pink hue visible as the morning sun shone through the surface of the paper, it was a bill. Overdue on payment, just like the last two which had landed on the doormat. Katie noticed her mother's tense expression, the expression she seemed to wear all the time these days, but in her hurry to be out of the door, into the sunshine, she barely stopped to lean over and kiss the pale, set cheek.

“Bye, mam,” she called carelessly, as she pushed open the back door and stepped into the waiting sunlight.

She heard an answering call of farewell, almost startled in tone, but didn't pause. After all, wouldn’t she be back in a few hours, ready to listen to her mother's woes?

-o0o-

At the end of the road, out of eyesight of the house, Katie turned left, away from the main road that led up to St Cyres and the bus stop into town. Impulsively, enjoying the feel of the sun on her skin, she decided to walk and instead made her way through the myriad of small residential roads down towards the centre of Penarth. She knew exactly where she would go: somewhere quiet to read her book in peace, enjoy the sunshine, and escape the attentions of Mellie Brown and her cronies.

Their bullying had begun at the start of the summer term. Katie didn't know what she had done to draw Mellie's displeasure, but the bruises across the tops of her arms and on her shins, even now hidden by some of the same foundation which hid the freckles, were testament to Mellie's ongoing fascination with causing her pain.

Just for today she was going to enjoy herself, Katie decided. Forget Mellie, forget the worry on her mam's face, and most of all forget the fact that her period was over a week late.

-o0o-

Twenty minutes later Katie reached the Rectory Road gates of Alexandra Park. It was still early enough that there was only the occasional pensioner out for their morning constitutional to disturb the quiet. Katie knew that by mid-morning the park would be crowded, filled with young mothers and their children, office workers taking the chance to catch a few rays whilst drinking their morning coffee and stealing a sneaky cigarette, and the inevitable groups of truant teenagers ditching class. She knew that strictly speaking she should consider herself one of the latter group but somehow she didn't. It wasn't school she was ditching today, it was life itself.

Passing through the ornate, finial-topped, cast iron gates their vivid blue paint mirroring the sky above, Katie followed the path down the hill, past profusions of pink, white and lilac blooms that artfully cascaded out over the edge of neat, well-tended flowerbeds and immaculate topiary bushes that always reminded Katie of illustrations of some strange alien mushrooms she had once seen in a comic as a child. Today she barely spared them a glance. She was headed to the wooded area on the south side of park known locally as the Dingle, an area of the natural landscape that had survived the laying out of the formal gardens in the early 1900s. There, beneath the canopy of oaks, with the stream running alongside, she would find peace, at least for a little while.

Entering the Dingle, Katie glanced around to make sure she was unobserved, then left the footpath, pushing her way through the undergrowth until she found her sanctuary, a small glen, out of sight of the footpath, where the canopy above was broken, allowing the morning sunlight to reach the long grass below. Despite the previous day’s rain, the ground had quickly dried in the now fierce morning sunshine.

With a relieved smile, Katie dropped her school bag on the ground and sat beside it, reaching inside for her book.

She had just turned over the second page, when her attention was caught by a soft noise in front of her. A rustling whisper, like the movement of feet through crisp autumn leaves. Allowing the book to fall into her lap, she raised her head and looked in direction of the sound.

I’ve never see the sun so bright, was Katie's last thought as she died.

-o0o-

PC Andy Davidson shifted from one foot to the other, waiting by the park entrance for Torchwood to arrive. He unconsciously rubbed the back of his neck where his short brown hair, in need of a trim, was tickling the collar of his police issue shirt, unbearably hot in the morning sun.

After what seemed like an eternity, but was in truth no more than ten minutes after making the call, a black SUV pulled up on the opposite side of the road, Torchwood embossed discretely along the wings, darkened windows disguising its occupants. Who would they have sent this time, Andy wondered? Captain Jack Harkness, the dashing American with a kilowatt smile and a manner of address which always made Andy feel vaguely inferior and stupid? Or maybe Ianto Jones, whose exterior was pure reserved suited scholar but who clearly had some hidden depths, given that he was hanging around with Jack and Gwen? But no. The door opened and he was greeted by the familiar smile of Gwen Cooper, his ex-colleague. She climbed down from the SUV wearing what Andy had now come to regard as her Torchwood uniform: close fitting, black denim jeans; short, practical black, low-heeled boots; a black, semi-tailored leather jacket; and an emerald-green top with a plunging neckline. Andy had noticed that the neckline was always plunging, although the colour changed on a daily basis. He idly wondered if Rhys minded, or if Jack and Ianto even noticed.

Gwen freed a number of tendrils of her shoulder length black hair from the collar of her jacket as she turned to face him, her face lighting up with pleasure as she caught sight of the tall, lanky silhouette of her friend. Her smile was infectious and he returned it easily, about to call out her name.

She held up a finger, staying his greeting, reaching back into the SUV to pull out a large, metal case from the passenger seat. The metal case was almost as much a part of her uniform as her leather jacket, always accompanying her whenever Andy called for her help. Once Andy had asked what the case contained but Gwen had merely shaken her head and brushed aside his enquiry. Even though he was now privy to Torchwood's existence and its remit, Jack and his team were still tight-lipped about its resources. Andy had concluded that the case contained alien tech and that he was safer not knowing about such things. Even so he felt a quiver of curiosity as Gwen manoeuvred the case out of the SUV.

Locking the car, Gwen turned and strode across to him, her smile broadening with every step.

“Hey Andy,” she said cheerily, as she reached his side. “What have you got for me?”

Andy grinned in greeting.

“If I knew what I had, I wouldn't be calling you now, would I?” he quipped.

“Not the usual Penarth drunkard in a flowerbed then, swearing he's been abducted by aliens?”

“Er, no,” Andy said, his expression and voice turning sombre. “A body. A young girl. Fifteen. According to her bus pass her name is Katie Thompson, a pupil at St. Cyres.” He paused, shaking his head in a gesture of disbelief. “I've never seen anything like it, Gwen.”

“OK. You better take me to the body then,” Gwen said, her voice immediately business-like.

Andy turned and led her into the park, away from the well-used scenic paths which wound down towards the esplanade. Instead he took her on a circuitous route to a secluded copse, bounded on three sides by high wild bushes and undergrowth. The fourth side, a mass of trampled long grass and ground-hugging vegetation, was sealed off with blue and while crime scene tape, delineating the area of Katie Thompson's demise.

A young female PC, looking distinctly green around the gills, stood just to one side of the trunk of a tall oak tree, guarding the entrance to the copse, clearly trying to avoid having to look inside. She started nervously as Andy and Gwen approached, staring with unabashed curiosity at Gwen's unexpected presence.

“Don't worry, Amy, love,” Andy called, seeing her white face. “It's Torchwood. You'll get use to them.” He turned to Gwen and added under his breath. “PC Amy Kettering. First day on the job, straight out of training.”

Gwen gave an imperceptible nod and turned on her most non-threatening smile.

“Hello,” she said kindly to PC Kettering. “Gwen Cooper. Not exactly what you need on your first day, is it? Why don't you go get a cup of tea? Andy and I will deal with it from here.”

PC Kettering managed a faint smile and gave a grateful nod. Turning on her heel, she walked as quickly as dignity would allow, away from the scene.

Gwen and Andy rounded the tree trunk, ducking under the crime scene tape. Gwen halted and surveyed the copse, taking in the secluded location, the single point of access, the orientation of the trees and bushes, all conspiring to turn the copse into a suntrap. In the centre was the body of Katie Thompson. A typical Penarth teenager ditching school for a day in the sun, Gwen concluded, taking in the school uniform and discarded school bag at her feet. There were no signs of a struggle. A book lay open on her lap, as if she had fallen asleep whilst reading.

Gwen crossed to the body and set down the metal case. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a pair of purple nitrile gloves, pulling them on with a satisfying snap. Leaning over she gently closed the book with one finger so she could see the title. The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson. Gwen gave a shudder. Suzie's book of choice. Still, it wasn't the usual reading fare of your average fifteen year old school girl.

“Who found the body?” Gwen asked as she stood up. “It's pretty isolated here, especially for the centre of Penarth.”

“A dog walker, or rather her dog. The woman followed her dog into the undergrowth when he ran off, got as far as the tree there, saw the body and exited stage left calling me as she went. She said she was afraid of hanging around, in case the man who did it came back.”

Gwen frowned. Leaving the scene of a dead body was hardly the action of an innocent witness, especially not one who had not left any means of contact.

“And you're not considering her as a suspect?”

“Hardly,” Andy explained with an embarrassed smile. “Her name is Edith Backhouse. She's eighty-eight years old and she lives next to my mam, just the other side of the park. That's why she called me rather than ringing 999.” He ducked his head, looking suddenly like a boy caught out. “I do her garden.”

Gwen couldn't help smiling. She wondered if there was a man in the world as genuinely nice as Andy. All in all she doubted it.

Recalling the business in hand, Gwen moved around to Katie's head. Crouching down she carefully brushed the red hair away from Katie's face. With a sharp intake of breath, she decided Andy was right. She'd never seen anything like it either.

At first glance the girl looked as if she had been boiled alive. The features of her face were reddened and bloated, almost unrecognisable as human. Great swathes of skin across her neck and upper chest, visible in the v-neck of her open school shirt, were peeling away. Here and there, across the bridge of her nose and on her cheeks there were irregular, mottled growths, each a patchwork of light and dark brown pigmentation, shading almost to black in places and threaded through with red, spider-like veins. In two or three places, the growths appeared to have merged to form larger disfiguring masses, pulling the reddened skin around them taut. Glancing down, Gwen saw similar growths speckling the skin of Katie's arms, although here the growths seemed smaller, and less pronounced.

Focussing on Katie's face, Gwen found her eyes were opaque, white orbs, just visible between the swollen red flesh of her eyelids. Looking more closely, Gwen could see a hint of green beneath the white cloudiness. Whatever expression had been on Katie's face when she died had been lost underneath the swelling and growths, but from her relaxed sitting position Gwen concluded that she had either been taken by surprise and had not had time to react, or she had not felt threatened by whomever or whatever had attacked her.

And something had attacked Katie Thompson. Something not human, something from the Rift. Another monster for them to fight.

Gwen shivered despite the heat. There were only three of them now. Only three of them to keep the monsters at bay. And there were so many monsters. Gwen’s shoulders slumped a fraction. Who were they kidding? They didn't stand a chance.

“How long has she been dead?” Andy interrupted her thoughts, more to break the silence than in expectation of a real answer.

“Not long,” she replied briskly, trying not to let Andy see how defeated she felt. “Probably no more than an hour, maybe two. I won't know for sure till we get her back to the lab and do a proper PM.”

“Whoa, no way,” Andy objected, his voice strident. He took a step, effectively placing himself between Gwen and Katie, denying her access. “This is a police matter. She has to go the morgue.”

Gwen shot Andy an irritated glance. For all his eagerness to be involved in the Torchwood roller-coaster, sometimes he was stubbornly conservative in his attitudes.

“We're not talking your average mugging gone wrong here, Andy,” Gwen responded finally, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Whatever did this probably came through the Rift and we need to know what the hell we're dealing with. Otherwise, God knows how many other Katie Thompson's we'll find lying around Cardiff doing their best impression of a cooked mutant lobster.”

“I'm not covering up a dead body for you, Gwen,” Andy retorted. “She goes to the morgue.” He stared at her meaningfully. “If you choose to steal her from there, there is nothing I can do to stop you.”

Despite her irritation, Gwen found herself smiling. It wouldn't be the first time, and she was pretty sure it wouldn’t be the last, that Torchwood had indulged in a bout of bodysnatching.

“All right,” she agreed, nodding. “She goes to the morgue. Can I at least take some readings so I have something to be going on?”

“Be my guest,” Andy replied, taking a step back to allow her unrestricted access to Katie's body.

Gwen reached across to the metal case and opened it, letting the metal lid fall back with a clunk. Reaching inside she pulled out what looked to Andy like a chunky black PDA. Holding it in one hand, she changed the settings, using a touchscreen on the front. Andy heard a tiny buzz as the machine came to life. Almost immediately Gwen began to run the machine up and down Katie's body in long smooth strokes, a centimetre above the skin and clothes. At her head and arms, Gwen adjusted the settings still further and used a series of shorter sweeps of the instrument to home in on two or three of the mottled growths.

“Are you allowed to tell me what that is?” Andy probed curiously. So far Gwen had been very secretive of Torchwood tech, always deflecting his questions with practised ease. This time however she broke off from collecting data and looked at him appraisingly, as if trying to weigh up whether he was capable of keeping another Torchwood secret.

“It's a Bekaran deep tissue scanner,” she said finally. “It's a bit like a cross between an x-ray and an ultrasound. Lets us look inside a body in more detail than current Earth technology allows.” She held up the scanner so Andy could see the details of Katie's tissues on the small screen. Probably to a qualified medic the view would be exciting and amazing, but to him it just looked like a mish-mash of coloured blobs.

“We've got a larger version back at the Hub,” Gwen explained. “This is a portable version that Owen and Tosh had perfected, before...” Her voice caught and she swallowed abruptly. Even now, nearly a year after that terrible night of loss, the pain of Tosh and Owen's deaths was almost as raw as the morning of the first day.

Andy put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed sympathetically, acknowledging her grief. Gwen lifted her hand to cover his, giving him a sad smile.

After one awkward moment she continued, her voice strong and business-like once more.

“Anyway, that's the scans complete. I'll get this data back to the Hub and start analysing it. Can you give me a ring to let me know when the body arrives at the morgue?”

Before Andy could answer, their attention was diverted by a shrill ringing noise, emanating from the scanner still held securely in Gwen's hand and directed in the general direction of Katie's face.

“What's that?” Andy asked sharply, conscious that, when dealing with Torchwood, alarms were rarely good things.

Gwen brought the scanner up to read the display which was now flashing a text message in red.

“OK, that is officially weird,” Gwen said after a moment, laying the Bekaran scanner down on the grass. Rummaging in the metal case for a second piece of equipment, she pulled out another PDA-like scanner. She ran the new scanner quickly over the body, frowning briefly at the results.

“This is the scanner we use to detect Rift energy,” she explained. “Everything that comes through the Rift carries an energy signature. Anything they come into contact with picks up a trace of that Rift energy. But Katie's levels are way too high for casual contact. It's almost as if she's been transported through the Rift and then returned.”

Andy nodded in a manner he hoped would convince Gwen he understood what the hell she was talking about.

“Is that why the Bekaran deep tissue thingy alarmed?” he asked, figuring it was in his best interests to stick to safer ground. “Rift energy?”

Gwen finished scanning Katie's body and rocked back, resting on her heels.

“No. The scanner has already worked out what caused the main body of tissue damage on Katie's face. They are radiation burns, and I mean massive ones. Ground zero type. That is what the scanner was warning us about. That there may be a radioactive threat in the vicinity.”

Andy took a deliberate step backwards, away from Katie and Gwen, his face full of fear.

“Radiation? Are we safe?” Gwen could tell he was trying to be professional, but the waver in his question gave the game away. She gave him a gentle smile.

“It's fine. Do you think I'd be sitting here calmly if there was enough radiation about to do that?” She indicated Katie's peeling skin. “The other thing the Rift scanner does is detect all forms of radiation, terrestrial and otherwise. It's not detecting any residual radiation on Katie's body, other than the Rift energy. Nothing above the usual Penarth background levels.” Gwen got to her feet, ignoring Andy's proffered hand and brushed down the knees of her jeans, dislodging a few stray strands of cut grass clinging to the denim.

“I'm sorry, Andy, but I think what we have here is a victim of the Rift. Nothing more. It looks like she got pulled through the Rift where she was exposed to massive amounts of radiation, deposited back here. It won't be the first time; people disappear in the Rift all the time. One of the unpublicised dangers of living in Cardiff.”

Andy shook his head in denial.

“No, I'm not buying it,” he retorted angrily. “If she got pulled through the Rift and then returned, how do you explain the book on her lap?”

Gwen looked at him sympathetically. People, even Andy who knew something of Torchwood, just didn't understand that the Rift defied explanation. Very quickly after joining Torchwood she had come to realise that where the Rift was involved, anything was possible and indeed likely.

“Look. I'll get Jack and Ianto to take a look at the readings when I get back to the Hub and see if there’s anything I've missed. If I find anything, I'll let you know.”

It wouldn't satisfy Andy, but there was nothing else she could do.

“I'll leave you to it,” she continued, before he had chance to protest. “See you later.”

Andy didn't reply, instead just raising a hand in a mute gesture of dismissal. Gwen sighed. She didn't like brushing him, or Katie Thompson, off. The young girl had died, horribly, and, whichever way you looked at it, the Rift, and by association Torchwood, was to blame. But they were stretched so thin now, something had to give.

And today, that something was Katie Thompson.


	2. Chapter 2

“Ianto?” Jack yelled. “Where are you?” Irritation was evident in his tone, even from inside the medical bay where Ianto Jones was currently stood deep in thought.

Ianto sighed. He'd found himself standing here a lot lately, leaning on the metal rail that ran around the curved staircase leading down into the medical bay. Each time, his slate blue eyes would fix on that patch of floor where Tosh's life had slowly leached away in an ever-widening pool of blood. Each time, he played back the events of that terrible night. Each time, he felt a surge of guilt as he realised that the paralysing grief which racked him was not due to the deaths of Owen and Tosh, although he missed them more than he could put into words.

No, Ianto’s grief was because of the bitter aspect of despair, defeat and loss that had descended upon Jack at the realisation he had been unable to prevent the events of that night. Jack held himself totally responsible.

He covered it well, Ianto had to admit. The public image Jack Harkness portrayed to the world apparently managed his grief and emerged virtually unchanged, bold, brash, and filled with confidence. But Ianto had woken, on more than one occasion, to find his lover wracked with nightmares Ianto could only guess at, sobbing in his sleep as if his heart had shattered into pieces and would never be whole again. On those occasions, Ianto attempted to soothe the older man, stroking his hair, wrapping his arms around him, murmuring words of comfort until the tears ceased and Jack slipped back to dreamless sleep. He had never told Jack about the nightmares or the tears, knowing that Jack would pull away from Ianto, withdrawing even further into himself.

At the thought, Ianto bit his lip hard to prevent the tears welling at the back of his eyes spilling onto his cheeks. He would never be able to come to terms with seeing Jack in such constant pain.

“Ianto!” Breaking Ianto out of his reverie, Jack's summons was louder this time, even more strident. Schooling his features back to their usual calm mask, Ianto straightened, smoothed down the line of his charcoal grey suit, more out of habit than necessity, and set off towards Jack's cubbyhole of an office, pausing briefly at the coffee machine to pick up a mug of coffee which stood waiting. As he reached the open door of the office he paused, self-consciously checking his appearance in the glass of the window which theoretically would let Jack observe the goings on in the Hub without rising from his desk. Not that Jack could see a great deal in reality, his view being obscured by the myriad of photographs and old newspaper clippings tacked to the glass with blu-tack and peeling, yellow sticky tape. Ianto peered through one of the few remaining uncovered areas of glass and looked thoughtfully at his boss.

Jack Harkness was sat at his battered wooden desk, a pile of paperwork scattered untidily in front of him. Here and there fluorescent pink and green post-it notes, filled with comments written in Jack's beautiful copperplate script, were tacked to specific pages. The sleeves of his blue cotton shirt were rolled back to his elbows, revealing muscular toned forearms, one wrist sporting the heavy leather wristband of his vortex manipulator. His matinee idol good looks were currently marred by a scowl of frustration, his brown hair spiky from being run through by restless hands.

Just looking at his lover made Ianto's heart race with longing. Gwen was out on a call from Andy Davidson. It would probably be at least another hour before she showed her face in the Hub. Plenty of time to try and bring some life back into Jack's eyes, or at the very least let him forget for a few short minutes.

Let them both forget.

Ianto patted the inside pocket of his suit jacket, confirming the presence of his battered stopwatch. He allowed himself a small smile at the memories the stopwatch invoked. Memories of a better time. Memories of stolen moments of passion. Memories of easy laughter, before the world went to hell.

He took a deep calming breath and stepped into the office.

“You yelled, sir?” he said mildly. That stopped Jack in the middle of a deep breath, no doubt intending to call him again.

“Twice,” Jack growled. “Didn't you hear me calling?”

“Truthfully, it would have been difficult to miss,” Ianto said in that same calm monotone, fighting the urge to smirk. “Coffee?”

As he spoke, he walked around the side of the desk and set the coffee down in front of Jack, his mouth creasing in a faint smile as he watched his boss pounce on it as if it were the holy grail, not Ianto's own favourite Calvin and Hobbs mug. He gulped the contents down hungrily. As he drained the last dregs, Jack paused, his brow crinkling in a slight frown.

“Have I done something?” He frowned with a vague air of confused concern, his blue eyes puzzled.

“Why do you ask?” Ianto returned, unclear where Jack was heading.

“I must have done something. The coffee was...” He struggled for the right word.

“It wasn't decaf, if that's what you mean,” Ianto said hotly. “The last person who earned decaf was Gwen after that incident in the hothouse...”

Jack chuckled at the memory. Gwen had decided that anything Jack and Ianto could do, she could do better. The look on Rhys' face when Ianto and Jack had, in a serious clinch destined to lead to better things, fallen over him and Gwen, already much further along in proceedings, was a memory Jack intended to keep until his dying day.

His final one, whenever that was.

“What I'm still not clear about is if it was the fact that she'd nabbed our favourite venue for a quick shag of her own, or the fact she stopped us from having a game of naked hide and seek that pissed you off,” he laughed.

“Both,” Ianto muttered, turning scarlet with embarrassment, a reaction which he had hoped he'd got past by now. “Anyway, the coffee?” he asked, hoping to deflect the conversation back to safer ground. A safe topic of conversation into which he could introduce a stopwatch and a visit to Jack's cosy little bunker.

“It was...cold.” The laughter in Jack's voice was suddenly gone, his tone now filled with concern. “You never bring me cold coffee. It offends your sensibilities too much. So I naturally figured I must have done something wrong.”

Ianto's eyes flickered over to the clock on Jack's wall, all thoughts of seduction vanishing as he realized he’d made the coffee nearly an hour ago with every intention of taking it straight up to Jack, knowing how much their leader hated paperwork. Then he had thought about Tosh and Owen, and Jack. The despair had surged to the surface and the coffee had been forgotten. Sudden panic seized him and he made a break for the door.

“I'm sorry. I'll get you another cup.”

Jack put a hand on his arm, gentle but firm, preventing him from leaving.

“Ianto. Stop. This isn't about the coffee and you know it. What is it? Talk to me.”

To his absolute horror, Ianto found his eyes blurring with tears. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear them before Jack saw them but it was already too late.

With a muttered curse, Jack pushed his chair back and pulled Ianto down until he was sat across his lap.

Ianto struggled to free himself, ignoring the inevitable hot flush of pleasure which swept through him at being close to Jack. After a moment’s hesitation Jack released him, allowing him to clamber to his feet.

“Talk to me, Ianto,” Jack repeated.

“I'm not a child, Jack,” Ianto muttered petulantly, avoiding Jack’s eyes. “I don't have to tell you every little thing that is bothering me.”

Jack sighed. “No, you don't. But when whatever it is causes you to break down just because I tell you your coffee was cold, then it must be bad. How can I help if I don't know what is wrong?” Jack said helplessly.

Looking up, Ianto saw a flash of fear in Jack's eyes, the resurgence of bad memories spilling over, driving what little light remained far, far away.

“I can't tell you what's wrong, because I don't know!” Ianto shouted suddenly, unable to contain his grief any more. He needed Jack to know that it wasn't just him who was hurting.

“I miss them! OK? I feel a burning guilt every time I think of them, or see their picture, or use one of Tosh's little programs. Because I'm here and they're not. It should have been me at the reactor plant or in the Hub. It should have been me that died!”

Ianto’s voice fell away harshly, like he might have been talking to himself.

“It's not as if I'm really that important. I'm the teaboy. Owen was a doctor. Tosh was a genius. They were useful. I'm just...filler. Someone to fetch and carry and clean up the mess. I don't even have much of a life to lose. No wife and a family I don't talk to.” Ianto raised his head finally, his brows pulled together, his eyes a stormy blue. “I'm alone, Jack. And I always will be. Sometimes I hate Gwen because she's settled and happy and has a life outside this damn pit you and I live in. Once upon a time I thought I could have that. Now I know better.” He shook his head and pinned his gaze on his lover. “I can handle all of that, Jack. But do you know what I can't deal with, what I hate the most?”

Jack remained silent, eyes wide with shock. He had not seen Ianto lose control like this for a long time. Not since Lisa. Jack wanted to reassure Ianto, convince him that he was wrong, that he wasn’t worthless, that he wasn't alone. Tell him that Ianto had him, Jack, and would always have him. After all, he was immortal.

But Jack couldn't. He was frozen in place. Any words of comfort remained unformed at the back of his throat. His hands, which ached to pull Ianto into an embrace, remained limply by his sides.

At Jack’s continued silence, Ianto seemed to deflate. In distress, he ran his hands back through his short brown hair creating his own hedgehog of untidy spikes. Finally, looking Jack square in the eyes, his own dark blue eyes locked with Jack's lighter ones, he said quietly, his voice almost devoid of emotion, “What I hate most is the fact that Tosh and Owen dying killed you inside, Jack. And nothing I do seems to be able to mend that.”

Ianto held Jack's shocked expression for a moment more, and then tore his gaze away, unwilling to witness the pain he knew he would see there.

“That night we lost Tosh and Owen, I feel like I lost you as well,” he finished, his voice catching on the final word. All the despair he felt welled to the surface in a single rush.

And then he felt Jack move beside him, wrapping him in his arms, turning Ianto's face so that he could capture his mouth in a searing kiss. Ianto leaned into the older man's strong body, returning the kiss with all the love and longing he never dared to express out loud He willed Jack to deny the accusation and reassure him that he was whole. After several long moments however, Jack pulled back, sending waves of bitter disappointment coursing through Ianto, as he found himself released so that he stood by Jack’s desk, bereft, cold, alone.

Jack looked at him with all the pain Ianto had been afraid to witness.

“I killed them, Ianto. I have to live with that. I brought them into this life. I brought you in, and Gwen. One day I'll kill you too. I don't want that to happen. The thought of losing you crucifies me inside, but I can't stop it.” He dropped his eyes to the surface of the wooden desk so he didn't have to meet Ianto's tortured gaze. He could hear the words spilling from his mouth, wanted to take them back, but they continued to fall unbidden from his lips. He had thought he had hidden his ongoing grief from the remnants of his team so well, but Ianto had seen. Of course he had. You couldn't hide those feelings from someone you truly loved, or who truly loved you. And it was because he did love Ianto, even though he could never say it, that he continued intensely, “You and Gwen should run, Ianto, as far and as fast as you can, away from Torchwood, away from me. Run away while you still can.”

Silence filled the whole world around them.

Ianto swallowed past the boulder in his throat. His eyes were bleak, and a muscle worked in his cheek as he tried desperately to hold himself together. He longed to pull Jack to him and force him to take back the words. Almost as though he sensed what Ianto was about to do, Jack retreated behind the desk, widening the chasm that already lay between them.

Seeing Jack retreat, Ianto shivered. Jack couldn't have made the message clearer. Jack didn't want him. Jack was going to push him away until he had no choice but to leave.

To leave Torchwood.

To leave Jack.

He felt a surge of anger.

Ianto spun, leaning on the desk, pushing his face into Jack’s, forcing the man to meet his eyes. “You know that's never going to happen, Jack,” Ianto said fiercely. “It doesn't matter what you do or say to drive me away, it won't work. I care too much about you to let you destroy yourself like this. I won’t make this easy for you. I will never leave you. Not as long as I have a breath in this body. Live with it!”

Ianto put his shoulders back and forced himself to move one foot in front of the other away from Jack, towards the relative safety of the silent, empty Hub.

Jack watched him, moving as straight and stiff as if he'd broken every rib in his chest. But it was his heart that had broken, and Jack knew it. And in that moment Jack realised that what Ianto said was the truth. Whether Jack wanted him there or not, every day that Ianto Jones lived, he would be in Jack's life.

And Jack did want him there, despite what he had just said. But it was too late now to take his words back. By rights, Ianto should never forgive him for the hurt Jack had just inflicted on him, deliberately widening the void.

At the very least Ianto deserved the truth. Jack's voice, low and sad, stopped Ianto at the door.

“If you hadn't been here, Ianto, I would have run. A year ago I would have turned my back on Torchwood, on Earth, even on Gwen, and run for all I was worth. The only reason I'm here at all is because of you.”

-o0o-

By the time Gwen returned to the Hub half an hour later, Ianto's mask was firmly back in place. Even so, the atmosphere in the Hub was almost thick enough to drill through. Gwen directed a curious glance towards Ianto, taking in his apparent complete absorption in a screen of rift readings despite his eyes being lowered, fixed firmly on the mug of coffee he was gripping, his knuckles as white as his face. Above she could see the wide open door to Jack's office and hear Jack's heavy footsteps as he paced up and down the tiny room.

She'd been gone for over an hour. Frankly she'd been expecting to have to call loudly as she walked through the door, giving the couple plenty of time to adjust their dress, as Rhys had once delicately termed it. Finish shagging, you mean, Gwen had retorted, with an amused roll of her eyes.

It certainly didn't look like much shagging had taken place. The silence was more indicative of the aftermath of a row of epic proportions. Great, she thought acidly, the perfect time to launch a new potential Rift menace on them. It looked like she would be the one doing the bodysnatching alone, if it came to it.

“Hiya,” she called cheerily, causing Ianto to jerk as if he had just become aware of her presence. To her dismay she saw his eyes were red from crying.

Not just an epic row then. The end of the world. Again.

Ianto clambered to his feet, avoiding Gwen's curious stare.

“Do you want coffee?” he said, in an attempt to deflect the inevitable questions he could see hovering on her lips.

“I'll get it,” Gwen offered, seeing the young man was still on the verge of tears.

It was unnerving. Gwen was not used to seeing Ianto so lost and defeated. Normally he hid his pain behind that cool veneer of indifference which only Jack seemed to be able to penetrate with any real success. It wasn't that Ianto didn't care. She knew he felt Jack's pain, her pain, as keenly, if not more keenly, than any other person she knew. But he rarely let it show on his face.

“No,” Ianto said vehemently. “I remember what happened the last time you touched the coffee machine. I still have nightmares about it” He forced a weak smile. “There won't be enough decaf in the world if you touch it again.”

Gwen returned the smile, and Ianto, grateful that she had chosen not to voice her concerns at his appearance, crossed to the coffee machine.

Falling back onto the battered sofa with a relieved sigh, she allowed the metal case she carried to fall to the floor with an echoing clang. Upstairs she heard the footsteps cease their relentless pounding.

“What was it then?” Ianto asked as he pressed a steaming mug into her hands. Gwen sipped it gratefully before answering.

“A young girl found dead in Alexandra Park, down in the Dingle.”

“Was it the rift?”

“Looks like it. She had high levels of rift energy in her body. She'd also been exposed to some pretty intense radiation by the looks of her. I'll know more when I've had time to analyse the readings from the scanner, but it looks like your average rift snatch and return.”

“What looks like your average snatch and return?” Jack interrupted, striding down the stairs to join them. Glancing up Gwen noticed that the swagger was in place but Jack was studiously avoiding Ianto's eyes. Not that that was difficult. Beside her, Ianto had taken a sudden and intense interest in a damp patch which marked the concrete at his feet.

“This girl Andy called me out to this morning. Riddled with rift energy, covered in radiation burns and growths. I thought we could go over the readings I took and then make the decision whether it is worth doing a body snatch from the morgue. I couldn't have brought the body here this morning. For one, Andy wouldn't let me. He came over all 'proper police procedure' as soon as I suggested it. Two, while I might have a reputation as a bit of a superwoman as far as Andy and Rhys are concerned, even I can't manage the lifeless body of a fifteen-year-old girl single-handed.”

As she spoke, Gwen opened up the metal case at her feet and retrieved the Beckaran deep tissue scanner which she handed to Jack. Without looking at Ianto or Gwen he crossed over to one of the computer workstations and uploaded the data from the scanner. There was silence in the Hub as he perused the data scrolling across the screen before him. Finally he turned to face them and addressed Gwen directly, still not looking at Ianto.

“I think you're right. A Rift snatch and return. I wouldn't like to go where this girl has been. Not a nice way to go. Let your friend Andy know there is nothing we can do. It's just one of those Rift things.”

Turning away abruptly, he headed towards the cogwheel door of the Hub.

“I'm going out for a while. I'll be back tonight,” he said shortly, and stepped through the door which rolled shut behind him.

Gwen turned to Ianto, whose face was now a picture of undisguised misery.

“What the hell happened while I was gone?” she asked gently, her own face wreathed in motherly concern.

“I made a fool of myself,” Ianto said bitterly. “Leave it, Gwen.”

Gwen reached out to place an understanding hand on Ianto's arm but he flinched back as if she were living flame and her hand fell helplessly to her side. Ianto shook his head.

“Look, I'm sorry. I'm going to have another look at the scanner data,” he apologised, turning away and sitting down in front of the computer Jack had loaded the data on.

“But Jack agreed it was just a snatch and return,” Gwen pointed out, at once wishing she'd kept her big mouth shut, as Ianto's face twisted at the mention of Jack's name.

“Yes, well, our illustrious leader gave this girl...?” He raised an eyebrow at Gwen.

“Katie Thompson,” she supplied.

“...Katie, about ten seconds of his consideration. Forgive me, but I think she deserves more,” Ianto continued in clipped tones.

“Yes, of course,” Gwen replied automatically. She fell silent and watched for a moment as Ianto tapped on the keyboard, causing a cascade of images to tile across the screen.

“I don't know what's happened between you and Jack, Ianto,” she began quietly, watching as Ianto's shoulders stiffened, the only indication he had heard her, “but he needs you. I know you love him. It's written all over your face every time you look at him. But believe me when I say, and you can't imagine how much it pains me to say this, he feels exactly the same way about you. He just isn't brave enough to say it.” She paused, searching for the best advice she could find. Finally she said, “Don't give up on him.”

There was a long silence. Ianto's hands had stopped moving over the keys, lying braced against the edge of the keyboard.

His shoulders fell a little as he said softly, not turning around, “I couldn't even if I wanted to. We need him.” He took a shuddering breath before he finished quietly, “I...need him.”

Gwen got to her feet and crossed to stand behind Ianto, placing a hand lightly on his shoulder. It was the briefest of touches, but Ianto felt it, and knew that she understood.

After a moment, she said, “I'll leave you to it. Call me if you find something?”

Ianto nodded but didn't look round. He heard a clunk as Gwen deposited her barely touched coffee mug beside him, the familiar smell wafting up to him, warm and comforting. After a minute there was the sound of the Hub door rolling open, and a second later closing once more. Surrounded by the suddenly oppressive silence of the Hub, Ianto had never felt more alone. He swallowed hard and took a gulp of Gwen's still scalding coffee to try to drive down the hopeless sob welling in his throat, before throwing the mug across the basin, watching defiantly as it shattered into jagged shards at the base of the water tower with one loud, reverberating crack. Blinking hard to clear his vision, he forced his attention back to the intimate details of Katie Thompson's death.


	3. Chapter 3

It didn't take Gwen long to locate Jack. In fact it turned out to be surprisingly simple. As she exited the door of the Tourist Information Office she saw him, leaning heavily against the brushed metal railings of Mermaid Quay, looking out over the bay. His tall, broad-shouldered silhouette was unmistakable, even without the familiar shape of the heavy blue-grey wool greatcoat he habitually wore, including today despite the heat. The hem was flapping noisily round his ankles in the surprisingly stiff breeze blowing in from the sea. His eyes appeared to be fixed on the distant horizon, hazy and indistinct in the heat, and he seemed completely oblivious to the scores of people strolling up and down the waterfront, or sat dining at the nearby open-air restaurants, all making the most of the afternoon sunshine.

Clearly he had intended to be found. If Jack wanted to disappear, Gwen could have searched Cardiff for a thousand years and never found a trace. He was expecting a confrontation and she was damn well going to give him one. Seething, she made her way across the wooden decking of the Quay, her heels clacking loudly on the boards as she walked, the staccato sound giving a voice to her furious approach. Despite the noise, Jack remained oblivious.

Reaching his side, she took up an angry stance just behind him.

"What the fuck did you do, Jack?" she spat, almost incandescent with rage.

Jack spun round, startled. Expecting trouble, his hand dropped instinctively to the holster at his waist. Instead he found himself confronted by Gwen, eyes blazing, face flushed, fists clenched. The hand seeking his gun fell to his side, empty.

She saw a twinge of disappointment flitter across his face as he registered her identity. Obviously he had been hoping that Ianto would be the one to follow him, Gwen thought incredulously. Did he really understand Ianto, his lover, his friend, his partner, so little? Even as an outsider to their relationship she could see that Ianto had too much pride to run after Jack.

She looked him up and down, her mouth twitching into a momentary moue of contempt. “He isn't coming,” she said coldly. “So tell me instead. What the fuck did you do?”

Jack swallowed uncomfortably. He didn't really have to ask Gwen what she meant; she was far too perceptive not to have noticed the oppressive atmosphere in the Hub that morning, but he did anyway.

"Ianto," she replied stonily, her face taut and angry. “What the hell did you say to him, Jack? From what I saw it would only take one wrong word or touch for him to shatter entirely. I've never seen him so close to breaking down; he actually flinched when he thought I was going to touch him. And this is Ianto we're talking about. The undisputed master of keeping emotions firmly buttoned up beneath that waistcoat of his."

Jack shrugged helplessly, his eyes fixed firmly on the wooden boards at his feet, unwilling to look into her hazel eyes and see her furious accusations.

"I don't know," he lied desperately. The last thing he wanted was Gwen knowing the full details of what had happened earlier. "One minute I was yelling for him to bring me coffee, the next minute we were having the mother of all rows."

Gwen looked at him sceptically, the corner of her mouth lifting in a disbelieving sneer.

"Don't talk crap, Jack. The atmosphere in the Hub just now wasn't a row; it was more like a breakup. I wouldn't be surprised if Ianto wasn't down there writing his resignation letter right now. And I wouldn't blame him if he did." Even as she said it Gwen knew that whatever Ianto was doing at that moment, resigning would be the furthest thing from his mind. He would never voluntarily leave Torchwood, just as she wouldn't. For both of them it was a job for life, irrespective of what shit Jack threw at them. They both loved Jack too much to leave. Still it wouldn't do any harm to put the fear of God into him at the prospect.

Jack's shoulders slumped as he admitted defeat. It didn't matter what he said now; she'd know what was wrong even if he tried to lie his way out of it. Perceptive. It was why he loved her. First Ianto, now Gwen. Yet again he was guilty of underestimating his team. When would he learn?

Jack shook his head, whether in denial of her words or in bewilderment, Gwen couldn't tell.

“He lost it, Gwen. I mean really lost it.” His voice was unsteady with barely suppressed emotion as he confessed the truth. “He told me he wished he had died instead of Owen and Tosh."

Gwen sighed deeply and stepped past him to lean on the railing, looking at the distant horizon that had held Jack's attention. At her silence, Jack returned to his own leaning position on the railings and looked sideways at her. She met his gaze, her own eyes dark with sadness. After holding it for a long moment, she rubbed the bridge of her nose tiredly and reached down to take Jack's hand in her own. Her fingers, firm and steady, encircled Jack's own trembling fingers, her touch gentle, warm and comforting.

“That's survivor's guilt, Jack. We've all got it. Look, don't you think I've wished I’d been in Tosh or Owen's place a thousand times this year?” She squeezed his fingers tightly as she spoke, her voice low and intended only for him. “Do you think if we had reacted to Hart's message in any other way than we did, things could have been different? Or would they have turned out the same? We just can't know, and it will drive us insane if we keep trying to figure it out. So we mourn, we accept, and we move on, but the guilt remains. We just have to live with it.”

Gwen kept her eyes fixed on Jack, searching his face for a reaction. His face remained immobile, his eyes blank and dead.

“But I don't think survivor's guilt is enough to create the Ianto that's down in the Hub now.” Gwen shook her head, her growing worry for Ianto and Jack forcing her to speak honestly, even brutally. “He's an intelligent man. He sees it for what it is. Inevitable, but in the end pointless. He told me he'd made a fool of himself, but it's pretty clear to me it was probably the other way around." She looked at Jack accusingly, daring him to deny it. To her relief Jack made no attempt to deny the charge. He nodded his agreement, his expression grim with grief and something else, something she’d seldom seen there: shame.

“He said the night that Tosh and Owen died, I died too. I didn't think anybody had noticed I wasn't...coping," he confessed. The word was inadequate for what he had been feeling, but he was unwilling to give it a more honest name. He dropped his gaze, unwilling to meet the inevitable censure in Gwen's eyes.

With good reason. Gwen, incensed once more, swung round away from the railing, raised her hand and slapped Jack hard across the face with all the fury at her command. The sound rang loudly across the waterfront. Passing pedestrians paused mid-stride to stare at them curiously, but Gwen neither noticed nor cared; she was too enraged.

“You selfish bastard!” she screamed at him shrilly, her Welsh accent significantly more pronounced as it always was when she was in the grip of strong emotion. “For God's sake, Jack, of course we've fucking noticed it. How can we not? There are three of us now, just three of us. How are we supposed to keep doing this?” All her own fears about Torchwood's fragile state bubbled to the surface like magma in a volcano. “Ianto was right, Jack. Something died in you that night. You pretend and you flirt and you swagger about, but it's not you. We need Jack Harkness, hero and protector, not the little boy lost. Torchwood is broken, Jack. We can't do this without you. We aren't strong enough. Ianto isn’t strong enough. I'm not strong enough."

She stood waiting for him to answer, her breath coming in short angry spurts, watching as the red weal of her handprint grew livid on Jack's cheek. Lashing out had been instinctive, retaliation for Jack's inability to recognise the hurt in those around him. Looking at his desolate face, though, as he wordlessly accepted the punishment she had dealt him, she felt no satisfaction, only renewed grief at what they had lost and what they had become.

"How do I fix it, Gwen?” Jack whispered finally, so quietly that Gwen strained to hear him above the noise of the passers-by. “Losing Tosh and Owen was like losing a child. But every time I realise that it could have been Ianto, or you, lying on the floor in a pool of blood, I can't breathe. That would be like losing my soul. Part of me is glad that it was Tosh and Owen who were sacrificed. What does that make me? How do I live with that guilt?"

Gwen looked at him, her anger spent. Slow tears trickled down her cheeks as she listened to Jack's whispered confession. His plea for help. Everything was clear now. But only Jack could learn to live with this admission. Her forgiveness, Ianto's forgiveness, could go only so far in easing his guilty conscience.

The rest? The rest would take time and patience and love.

"I wish I knew, Jack,” she said finally. “All I do know is that you loved Tosh and Owen, and, what is more important, they knew that too. But your relationship with Ianto goes far beyond what you ever had with them, or even have with me. It is natural that you should be glad that he is alive, and it is right. Tosh and Owen wouldn't hold that against you. They could see, just as I can, how much you love him. You can't carry the burden of the whole world on your shoulders, Jack. You can’t carry the blame for their deaths for ever, just because you're immortal. They knew what they were doing, and they were proud to do it. We have to honour the sacrifice they made and let them go."

"And how do I fix Ianto?" Jack asked, his voice still pleading. “I said some things, Gwen. Some things I'm not sure he'll ever be able to forgive me for."

Gwen shook her head firmly, the back of her hand brushing away the drying tears.

“He loves you, Jack. He'll forgive you. But you can’t keep pushing him away. He wants you to commit, Jack, one way or the other. He needs to know where he stands with you."

"I love him, Gwen, I do." Jack said fervently, his blue eyes now shining intensely with determination and renewed hope. He'd finally said it out loud. Admitted his feelings for Ianto not only to himself but to Gwen.

Now all he had to do was tell Ianto. How hard could that be?

"And have you told him that? Have you said it to his face?” She shook her head sadly. “No, of course you haven't. Because commitment's not something you do, Jack.” Gwen’s words brought him up short. He looked at her askance as she continued, “It doesn't matter how you feel. If you acknowledge you love him, then you also acknowledge that you might lose him; and that if you do lose him, it will matter. I know why you keep us both at arm’s length, Jack, but you've got to let him in. Tell him what you told me. He will understand."

Jack rotated his hand until his fingers now enclosed Gwen's and he squeezed hard.

"Thank you. You are an amazing woman, Gwen Cooper. Rhys doesn't know how lucky he is to have you."

Gwen smiled.

"I can assure you he does. I remind him of his good fortune, and mine, every day.” She paused and reached in, hugging him close. “Time to be brave, Captain Harkness," she said softly in his ear. "Time to be our dashing Captain again."

Gwen stepped out of the embrace, for a second regretting that loss of contact. She looked up at him briefly, flashing that gap-toothed smile Jack loved so much. The one he suddenly realised that had been woefully rare for the last few months. He had been so wrapped up in his own misery he had failed to see the true depth of hurt that Gwen had been suffering too. He would make it up to her. And Ianto. He had to.

“Now, if you don't have any objection, I'm going to go home and see my lovely husband," Gwen said cheekily, giving him a sly wink, “and remind him how lucky he is to have me. In every sense...”

Jack managed a laugh, one she was relieved to hear sounded genuine, if only a little forced.

“It's the middle of the afternoon, Gwen,” he reminded her, wagging a mockingly disapproving finger in her direction. “Rhys'll be at work.”

She shook her head with a smile. “Not today. We've got an appointment to see a house in Penarth at three."

"A house? Are you actually thinking of settling down? Becoming domesticated?” Jack mocked gently. As he spoke he gave a shudder. Gwen wasn't sure if it was genuine or not.

“We have to settle down sometime, Jack. We can't live in a flat like a couple of students forever. I might actually have to grow up. Even more unbelievable, so might Rhys!"

"I'm not sure that's possible,” Jack scoffed gently. “Sure, go ahead, go house hunting. Go do domestic for a change. Just keep your mobile on: we'll phone you if we need you."

"And are you going back to the Hub, Jack?" Gwen said carefully. The look she directed at him was challenging.

Jack met her gaze squarely, although his voice was a touch defensive as he replied,

"In a little while. I need to get my head straight first, decide how I'm going to get him back.”

“Be honest with him, Jack, that's all you have to do. And maybe woo him," Gwen said with a serious but genuine smile. “A little wooing never goes amiss.”

-o0o-

Two hours later Jack was sat cross-legged atop the curving burnished metal roof of the Millennium Centre watching office workers far below scurry home like insects swarming in a strange almost choreographed dance. Above him dark rain-clouds threatened the violence of a summer thunderstorm.

He had to go back. He should go back. He knew that with every passing minute the gulf between Ianto and himself was growing wider. Despite Gwen's reassurances that Ianto would forgive him, he just didn't know what he was going to say. So he had sat here for two hours holding imaginary conversations with Ianto, trying to find the words that would make everything right. So far every scenario that had played out in his head ended with either Ianto leaving him for good, or staying but turning into some distant stranger. Those outcomes weren't acceptable. He was just about to try a variation on the forty-second scenario when he was startled by the shrill ring of his mobile emanating from the pocket of his greatcoat. With trepidation he pulled it from inside the soft folds of material until he could see the caller display. The Hub. Ianto. Body tensing, he took a deep breath and flicked it open to answer.

"Jack," said Ianto, before Jack could open his mouth. His voice sounded calm, neutral, but Jack could hear the underlying tension. "We've got another one."

"Another what?" Jack asked, knowing he sounded cold and abrupt, but scared to say anything more in case he made the situation worse.

"A second dead body. Out in Penarth. This time it's a vagrant. He's well known in the local area. The police report actually mentions him by name. Old Joe. From the limited information given in the initial reports it looks like we might be dealing with a similar COD to Katie Thompson.” At the other end of the line Ianto's voice was brisk and efficient.

"Have you called Gwen?” Jack asked, forcing himself to respond with the same efficiency. As usual the timing of the Rift was spectacular in its inconsideration.

"Yep. She's on her way over to the scene now. She asked if you would pick up the gear and meet her there since she’s already in the area.”

"OK. Upload the coordinates into the SUV's sat nav. Can you prep the SUV? I'll be there in five." He was suddenly aware that Ianto would now know how close he was. That the only reason Jack had left the Hub was to avoid having to face him.

"No problem.” There was an imperceptible pause. “Do you want me to come with you?" Ianto said, his voice unsure. Jack hesitated. It was only a fraction of a second, but it was long enough. "Never mind," said Ianto abruptly, the waver of hurt plain down the phone line. “I'll get the SUV ready and see you back at the Hub." The line went dead.

Jack sighed wearily. He'd screwed up again. It wasn't that he didn't want Ianto there, he did. But he didn't want to say what he had to say crammed in the ten minutes it would take them to reach the crime scene in a speeding car or, worse, over the gory spectacle of a dead body. With another sigh of frustration and guilt combined, he pocketed the phone and got to his feet. With a final look at the dark clouds massing above Cardiff Bay, he headed towards the steps that would take him down towards the underground car park and the undoubtedly prepped and waiting SUV. Of Ianto, he knew, there would be no sign.

-o0o-

Old Joe was something of a fixture in Penarth, a vagrant who split his time between the various parks and open spaces surrounding the town. For a vagrant, he kept himself surprisingly clean, visiting the local beaches once a week to take regular baths fully clothed in the sea. His skin was dark and leathery from exposure to the elements and more often than not a rime of salt caked his clothes and cheeks. He was wiry thin, with long greying hair which obscured his true age, putting him anywhere between his early 50s and late 70s. Practically everyone in the local area knew him by sight, and he seemed to have inhabited the town for as long as anyone could remember. He was well-known to the police of Penarth too, who treated him with kindness and tolerance, shoo-ing him out of doorways, and occasionally offering him a police cell to kip in for the night. Old Joe was renowned for being inoffensive, the sort that never made trouble, never begged, and was always courteous and polite. In fact, the perfect kind of vagrant. Once, on one of his voluntary sojourns in the cells, he had confessed to a curious officer that the outside life he led was from choice, not necessity. It was a curious thing, but, despite his anonymity and his solitary life, he would be missed by the people of Penarth. Not consciously, but with that vague knowledge that something once considered a fixed constant in life was suddenly absent, though you may never work out what that something was.

-o0o-

By the time Gwen arrived at the patch of untidy scrub land, high on the cliffs above Penarth where Old Joe's body had been found, the summer thunderstorm had finally broken. The sky had darkened, the random sunbeams that still broke though the leaden clouds casting an eerie greenish glow across the sky, and large heavy drops of rain had begun to spatter the ground, increasing in intensity with every passing minute. They made sharp cracking noises as they hit the myriad of plastic bags strewn around Old Joe's body, containing his few scant possessions. He lay face up, open to the sky, and the rain had started to create rivulets through the film of salt encrusting his clothes. His opaque, sightless eyes stared wide at the surreal cloud cover above. His features, although swollen and red, were distinguishable, framing a look of bewildered surprise. From the way his arms, covered in a plaid cotton shirt, were spread wide, he looked as if someone had pushed him in the chest and he'd fallen spread-eagled onto the floor onto an invisible waiting crashmat. On his face were a couple of mottled brown and black growths which Gwen recognised from earlier that morning, spotted more numerously across Katie Thompson's face. Like hers, the skin of his face showed evidence of blisters and burning.

Gwen stood beside the body waiting patiently for Jack to arrive in the SUV, bringing with him the metal case containing all of their equipment. She zipped up the front of her leather jacket and pulled up the collar to cover her exposed neck, trying to fend off the cold wind which had sprung up along with the breaking storm. She wished she had remembered to bring an umbrella, although, looking up at the ever thickening, ominous clouds, the tang of ozone sharp in the air, she had to concede it might not be a wise move putting an umbrella up. Indeed, in five minutes or so, just standing up here might prove somewhat hazardous to her health. For the fiftieth time that minute she wished Jack would hurry the hell up.

She heard a commotion off to her right, and, looking out across the cliff top, she saw Jack striding towards her across the hummocks of couch grass and ground-hugging vegetation. He covered the distance in long, confident strides, imbued with an unmistakable air of authority. As he approached the crime scene cordon, a police officer, squat, middle-aged and with a sour expression, held a hand up to stay his progress. Jack paused momentarily and favoured him with a wide, white-toothed smile, flashing his Torchwood credentials. Gwen watched with amusement as the officious man deflated at the unarguable presence of a higher authority. With a second, more understanding smile, Jack patted the policeman on the shoulder, and crouched down to duck under the crime scene tape, his coat sweeping onto the wet grass so that a damp tide mark showed dark against the material. In a few swift steps he had joined Gwen beside Old Joe's body.

Gwen flashed him a questioning smile. "Have you spoken to Ianto yet?" she challenged, knowing that she should keep it professional right now but too curious to resist posing the question.

"No." Jack’s voice was light but with an air of finality. "I hardly thought confessing my undying love over a dying body was quite the thing. So, what have we got?" he finished briskly as he handed across the heavy metal case.

Gwen put it down at her feet, snapping open the latch. She rummaged around impatiently for a second, her search hampered by the fading light, before pulling out the Bekaran deep tissue scanner.

"Well, from first impressions, it looks like the same deal as Katie Thomson, only not as severe."

"He looks pretty dead to me," said Jack flippantly. “I would call that severe.”

“Yes, I know that, Jack," Gwen scolded, her brow furrowing in exasperation. "What I mean is, the burning of the skin doesn't look as severe, the growths aren't as pronounced, and there’s is less swelling of his face. He still looks human. Katie Thompson looked anything but." Gwen ran the Bekaran deep tissue scanner over the body in long passes taking initial readings. At least this time she knew what she was looking for. "I'm getting similar readings to the ones this morning. Evidence of radiation burns...”

"And the rift energy?" Jack asked. Gwen paused, and pulled out the second scanner. She ran it quickly over the body, interpreting the readings as she went.

"Yep, the same levels of rift energy. Again, it looks like he's been pulled through and dumped back again."

"OK, one I can believe. Two in the space of a day is getting weird," Jack said shortly, his eyebrows raised high on his forehead. “There is a chance it could be a coincidence, but you already know how I feel about coincidences. No, this is something else.”

At that moment, Jack's mobile started to ring. This time he pulled it out of his pocket and flipped it open, answering it without looking, instinctively knowing who would be on the other end of the line.

“Ianto!” he said cheerfully into the handset, his face wreathed in a smile. “I need you to check the Rift monitor and cross-reference it against the times of death of Old Joe and Katie Thompson.”

“Already done, sir,” Ianto replied. Jack was relieved to hear the normal tone of Ianto's voice. He knew it wasn't right, that the young man sat alone in the Hub was still steeped in misery, but at that moment they had other things to worry about. A welcome and, as far as he was concerned, necessary diversion.

“There is no direct correlation between the times of death and recorded Rift activity,” Ianto informed him smoothly. “But there was a Rift spike about an hour before Katie's death; roughly a mile east from the location her body was found.”

“Why didn't the Rift alarm trigger?”

“The spike was too low to trigger the alarm. It almost looks like a blip. It certainly doesn't look big enough for anything to have come through,” Ianto explained.

“Well, something did,” Jack commented wryly.

“There is something else,” Ianto interjected. “I couldn't find any sign of the negative rift spike Tosh identified as occurring when someone is pulled through the rift from our side. Whatever happened to Katie and Old Joe, they never left Cardiff.”

Jack's face broke into a smile of pride. Damn, his team were good. “Good work. Ianto, can you prep the autopsy bay? We're bringing Old Joe back for a closer look. We'll be there in twenty.” He snapped the phone shut, ending the call, and turned to Gwen, his face alight with curiosity.

“Don't you just love a mystery, Gwen Cooper?” he asked with a mischievous smile.

“I like them better out of the rain, where there is less chance of being killed by a stray lightning bolt!” she commented sourly as a particularly cold drop of rain found its way inside her collar. “And to think I could have been tucked on a sofa with Rhys and a nice glass of red right now.”

“That is hardly Torchwood spirit,” Jack said severely with a wide grin, his teeth gleaming scarily white in the strange green light giving him an almost daemonic aspect.

“Bugger Torchwood,” Gwen returned with a scowl.


	4. Chapter 4

By the time Jack eased the SUV into the allotted parking space under the Millennium Centre, the storm had settled in directly over the bay. In the darkness, vivid flashes of lightning studded the sky whilst a heavy metal thrash band seemed to have taken up station above the Hub. In the underground parking structure, the continuous rolling thunder was muted, the VIP-designated car park, reserved for members of the Welsh Assembly, now deserted save for the lone figure of Ianto Jones, shivering slightly, leaning against the anonymous metal door that marked the entrance to the Hub. Beside him, somewhat incongruously, a metal gurney waited to receive the body from the boot of the SUV.

Jack killed the engine and pushed open the driver's door. Wordlessly he stepped down and retreated behind the bulk of the SUV. Gwen clambered out of the passenger side, her black hair plastered flat against her head in long rat's tails, the shoulders of her leather jacket still shedding droplets of water down her arms as she moved, dripping from her elbows onto the floor. Her black jeans were sodden, now appearing two shades darker than their true colour. Her face, damp cheeks glistening under the harsh electric lighting, softened as Ianto stepped forward, handing her a white, fluffy towel. Taking note of the edgy nervousness which positively radiated from him she smiled encouragingly. Ianto looked past her into the SUV, trying not to grimace as he saw the telling dark stain of water on the upholstery. Something else for him to clean up. Gwen saw him look.

“I'm sorry,” she said automatically, with a small shrug and sigh of apology. “It's monsoon season out there.”

“So I gathered…” Ianto nodded, his voice careful and controlled. It was taking all his skills to hold it all together, she realised. The defences were in place but how long they would last was anyone's guess. She really hoped Jack made his move soon, before it was too late. Too late for any of them.

Ianto continued, “The water level is up a good inch in the basin and Myfanwy is really kicking off at the thunder. So far it's taken three bars of my best plain chocolate just to keep her calm.”

Although he was speaking to Gwen, Ianto's gaze was fixed firmly on the back of the SUV, where Jack was still hidden. Gwen threw the towel over her head, ostensibly to mop some of the wetness out of her hair, but really to give Jack and Ianto the illusion of a little privacy. Ianto recognised the gesture and immediately determined that Gwen deserved his best frothy hot chocolate complete with whipped cream, chocolate sprinkles and those little pink and white marshmallows she was so dismissive of, but secretly loved.

He had done a lot of thinking in the hours since Jack had stormed out of the Hub and he knew now what he had to do. Whatever the consequences. Taking a deep calming breath Ianto stepped round the back of the SUV where Jack had already opened the boot wide and was manhandling the body out towards the sill.

“Do you want a hand with that?” he asked smoothly, determined not to let another row develop. Without waiting for Jack's reply he stepped back round the SUV and pulled the gurney into position, aligned with the boot's sill.

“Thanks,” Jack muttered, still not raising his head to meet Ianto's eyes. “He's heavier than he looks.”

Ianto grabbed the opposite side of the body bag and between them they managed to wrestle the wet heavy duty plastic bag onto the metal trolley. Keeping his eyes lowered Jack began to tighten the webbing straps across the bag, making sure the body was secure. As his hand crossed over to Ianto's side of the trolley, Ianto trapped it beneath his own. Startled Jack’s eyes flicked up, finally meeting Ianto's. His heart almost stopped at the expression he beheld there: oceans of sadness and a tidal mix of pity and understanding.

Jack swallowed hard. Now was the time. If he was going to say something, he had to do it now. In a cold parking garage, with a dead body between them and Gwen only feet away, no doubt eavesdropping on every word.

“Ianto,” he began woodenly, his tongue thick and awkward in his mouth. He kept his voice low. “I...we...need to talk.” The final part of the sentence spilt from his lips in a rush as though it could no longer be contained. Which, as far as Jack was concerned, it couldn't.

Ianto brought Jack's hand up to his face and pressed his mouth to Jack's warm fingers in a brief, gentle kiss.

“Later,” he murmured just loud enough for Jack to hear. “When we can...talk...without interruption.” The hesitation in his voice, and the fleeting smile which touched his lips made Jack's pulse leap. Clearly talking was not the only thing Ianto had on his mind. Was he really to be forgiven so easily? Jack returned his smile tentatively and extracted his fingers, brushing his thumb across Ianto's slightly parted lips in a light but deliberately provocative gesture, before letting his hand fall back to the cold metal of handle of the trolley.

“Shall we?” he asked formally. With a touch of his old swagger, he bowed slightly to Ianto.

“By all means. After you,” Ianto replied, returning the bow, his right arm passing before him in a wide sweeping motion. “Sir.”

Surreptitiously listening to the exchange, Gwen rolled her eyes. She wasn't sure which was worse, the fighting or the weird unexpected flirting. But glancing covertly at Jack's relieved face and Ianto's half smile as they passed, she knew that the flirting was infinitely preferable. Even when, like now, the fighting still lay just below the surface, waiting for a chance to erupt. She just hoped that Jack and Ianto could hold on to the flirting long enough to sort things out.

-o0o-

Manoeuvring the gurney through the long cramped corridors of the Hub was a tricky business, despite frequent practice over the years, and it took a good ten minutes before Old Joe had taken up residence on the long gleaming autopsy table. From his vantage point on the circular walkway Jack looked down at Gwen and Ianto standing at either side of the table, clearly considering his options.

Gwen glared back up at him before looking down pointedly at her dripping clothes which were creating a small but definite puddle at her feet. Her eyes narrowed warningly as Jack opened his mouth to speak.

“Gwen, you better go find some dry clothes before you catch your death. Ianto, you can do the autopsy,” he ordered, with a grin.

“Right decision, Harkness,” Gwen growled as she started up the med bay stairs, her sights firmly set on the prospect of a long hot shower. Ianto caught Jack's eye and they both tried not to smirk as Gwen squelched her way towards the locker room.

“Hot chocolate when you're done?” Ianto called after her, receiving only a weary nod in reply. “How come Gwen looks like a drowned rat and you are barely damp?” he continued, directing his question towards Jack who was leaning on the banister, his eyes firmly fixed on Ianto.

Jack shrugged. “No idea. It's the power of the coat, I suppose. Why do you think I'm never without it?” He shook his head sending a spray of fine water droplets into the air. “See. Hair's wet, coat's dry. Magic!”

Ianto felt his stomach lurch with desire. He blinked rapidly to try and bring his thoughts back to the matter at hand, rather than the vision of his fingers entwined in Jack's hair as his lover writhed beneath him. Stop it, he told himself severely, autopsy first, then talking, then, if everything went according to plan, a lengthy visit to Jack's bunker.

“So,” he said hastily, swallowing hard. “Not relegated to haberdashery today then?”

Jack looked at him quizzically. Ianto's reaction to his deliberately sensual toss of the head (perfected in the 70's, those Angels really had something) had not gone unnoticed. Caught up in his own daydreams involving Ianto, the stopwatch and a steaming shower, the haberdashery comment had taken him by surprise.

“What? Oh, right. No. No haberdashery tonight, Ianto Jones. We'll find out how good you are with a scalpel.”

Inwardly Ianto smiled. It was good to see Jack flustered, off-balance. It somehow made him more human, less immortal saviour of the Earth. Now, all he had to do was keep him off-balance until they had chance to talk.

He picked up a scalpel from the tray laid out on a trolley beside the body and tossed it high into the air, catching it easily by the handle and twirling it between his fingers.

“I think you'll find I'm pretty spectacular,” Ianto commented suavely.

“One of your hidden talents?” Jack raised his eyebrows at the spectacle. He was confused. The Ianto Jones in front of him, shamelessly flirting with him over a dead body, was not what he had been expecting on his return to the Hub. He'd been expecting dark sullen looks and the silent treatment. “Quite the man of mystery, aren't you?” he quipped. Whatever the reason for Ianto's lightening of mood, he wasn't about to question it.

“Takes one to know one,” Ianto retorted with a fond smile. “Anyway, on the whole you approve of my hidden talents...sir?”

“Absolutely. And after you've done this autopsy I'll make it a point of approving of them again, in person, complete with audience participation.” Jack's face suddenly grew serious. “But we need to talk first.”

“I know,” Ianto said quietly, “but Jack? Nothing you say is going to change the way I feel.” He saw a flash of fear cross Jack's face, and he looked directly at him, his dark blue eyes locking with Jack's paler blue ones. “I'm in love with you. And that is all that really matters.”

Breaking eye contact before Jack could react to his words, he lowered his eyes and put down the scalpel, replacing it with a pair of heavy duty scissors, and began to carefully and methodically cut away the sodden clothes from Old Joe's body.

On the walkway Jack stared at Ianto in shock, his emotions careering from dread to bewildered joy in a matter of moments. The need to kiss the young man was suddenly overwhelming. Impulsively he leapt over the metal railing, his heavy boots hitting the floor with a loud bang which stopped Ianto mid-cut. The scissors clattered to the floor as Jack grabbed him by the shoulders, pulling him away from the metal table and pinning him against the wall, devouring his mouth in a passionate kiss, Jack's tongue pushing past Ianto's teeth to meet his in a fierce battle. Unbidden Ianto's hands burrowed underneath Jack's heavy coat, his hands feverishly pulling at the fabric beneath until the shirt came free, allowing him access to Jack's warm, faintly damp skin. One of Jack's hands lay flat against the cold tiled wall above their heads, supporting his weight whilst his other hand cupped Ianto's chin, tilting his head back to give him fuller access to his mouth. At the touch of Ianto's hands, he moaned softly, his sensitised skin welcoming the warm questing fingers. Hearing Jack's moan, Ianto smiled against his mouth, delighting in the response his touch was eliciting. Autopsy forgotten, he allowed his hand to drop lower, searching for the waistband of Jack's canvas trousers. As his fingers finally came to rest on the button, he felt Jack's hand cover his own and ease his fingers away. Gasping for breath, Jack tore his mouth away, allowing his head to rest on Ianto's shoulder. Panting, Ianto sagged against the wall, disappointment washing over him, in his chest the dull ache of rejection.

Before it could take hold, Jack turned his head and breathed raggedly into Ianto's ear,

“You drive me insane, Ianto Jones.” He nuzzled Ianto's neck as he spoke. Ianto closed his eyes, concentrating on the feel of Jack's lips against his neck, all thoughts of rejections fading into nothingness.

“I want you,” Ianto murmured, the words slipping from him unbidden. He felt Jack's hold on him tighten.

“You took the words right out of my mouth,” Jack said, chuckling softly, “but I'd much rather continue this somewhere more comfortable...and with fewer dead bodies.”

Ianto's eyelids fluttered open in surprise as he suddenly remembered where they were and what he had been doing. At the thought that he had been quite willing, if not downright eager, to have mind-numbing sex only feet away from the body of Old Joe, he flushed beetroot red.

“Right. Yes. Good point.” He pulled himself upright and away from the wall as he spoke, straightening his tie beneath the disposable plastic apron he had donned to protect his shirt and waistcoat. He caught sight of Jack's amused grin and felt himself turning an even deeper shade of red. Hurriedly he stooped down to retrieve the scissors.

“You look so cute when you're flustered,” Jack commented with a snigger.

“You're the one who vaulted over the railing, Jack” Ianto said, standing up and waving the scissors at him threateningly, “and I'm the one in possession of the sharp scissors. I'd be more careful what you say.” There was a mischievous glint in his eyes as he spoke.

“What? I'm giving you a compliment!” Jack protested with a knowing grin. He followed it with a lascivious wink. “We'll continue this later...” He bounded up the stairs, back towards the Hub.

“You're just leaving me to do this alone?” Ianto called after him disbelievingly.

Jack halted on the top step and spun round, shrugging his shoulders apologetically, a soft smile of genuine regret playing about his full lips.

“I'm clearly too much of a distraction here. Besides, like you said, you have the sharp scissors and I've seen how you wield that scalpel. I think I'd be safer somewhere else.”

“You better believe it, Harkness. Just remember, in the Hub no one can hear you scream.” To Jack's surprise and delight, Ianto returned his wink.

“Promises, promises, Ianto Jones,” Jack said grinning. “But there is Gwen, don't forget...”

“She knows us too well. She'll just turn the volume up on her iPod,” Ianto commented as Jack vanished round the corner, his snort of laughter echoing across the Hub.

Ianto stood for a moment, a quite frankly dopey smile on his face, staring at the space vacated by Jack. Then with a cough he twirled the scissors in his fingers and returned to slicing Old Joe's clothes away from his body. After a moment he began to whistle softly under his breath. So far, so good. He'd told Jack how he felt and Jack hadn't thrown it back in his face. For the first time in many weeks he felt a surge of hope. He didn't even mind that there was no one to witness his first autopsy.

-o0o-

Gwen pulled open the battered, ill-fitting metal door of her locker and pulled out a spare long sleeved top and pair of jersey leggings she kept there for emergencies. It occurred to her that she was down to her final set of spare clothes. These were ones she’d never wanted to see the light of day, at least not a day when Jack was present, or any other living human being if it came to it. Weevil blood, alien slime, sewer water, body fluids. Not a day passed when she didn't find herself covered in one or other of them. She figured she was pretty lucky that this time at least it was just common or garden rainwater.

As she pulled up the drawstring pants over her unpleasantly damp underwear, she checked her watch. She'd given them an hour. That should have allowed Ianto plenty of time to finish the autopsy and hopefully given Jack the chance to at least start putting things right. Dragging a pair of tatty trainers from the floor of her locker, she slipped them on with a grimace. Hardly the height of fashion, they lacked the heels which leant her confidence in the job. Unfortunately the black heeled boots were currently drying out slowly on one of the many hot water pipes that ran through the Hub.

She stepped through into the open expanse of the central Hub, listening carefully. No shouting. That was a good sign. No sounds of heated passion though. Either they were being discrete or they hadn't progressed to the make-up sex phase of the conversation.

Suddenly she caught the indistinct sound of Ianto's voice emanating from the medical bay. Apparently the autopsy was still in progress. She padded towards the sound of Ianto's voice, her trainers making no noise on the concrete floor. She peered around the corner, half expecting to find both Jack and Ianto poring over the body. Instead she found Ianto alone, gloved hands splattered with blood, speaking into the suspended microphone hung just above his head. He was just removing what appeared to be a pair of lungs from a set of weighing scales when he looked up and noticed Gwen watching him.

“Oh, hello. Feeling better now?” he asked, his eyebrows raising only slightly as he took in her uber-casual, Sunday morning, cleaning-the-bathroom outfit.

“Dryer at least.” Gwen replied with a weary smile. “I could murder that hot chocolate though.”

“Just give me one minute. I'm done here.”

Ianto stepped away from the body and pulled the dangling flap of the body bag back up over what was left of Old Joe's torso and face. Then he pulled off the gloves and plastic apron, stuffing them deep into a yellow clinical waste bag, and crossed to the handwash sink where he turned on the hot water and began lathering soap up his arms. As Gwen watched, he methodically scrubbed every speck of blood from his forearms before drying them on a white paper towel. His every action was deliberate and measured.

“You'd have made a good medic, Ianto,” Gwen commented. “The attention to detail, the meticulousness, the apparent indifference to blood. A really good doctor...or a copper.”

Ianto looked up at her in surprise. “Dead bodies I can handle; gushing blood is a much deeper issue,” he deadpanned, paraphrasing one of his favourite Eighties films from his childhood, a reference he was sure would go straight over Gwen's head.

“I think you'll find that was shame and death,” Gwen corrected him casually. “Weird Science is one of Rhys' all-time favourite films.” She caught his darting look of surprise and grinned. “Kelly Le-Brock in that leotard and those legwarmers, twirling her whistle. It's every teenage male fantasy. I didn't think it would be quite your thing...” She let the sentence hang.

“Just because I now choose Jack's braces over your high heels doesn't mean I didn't appreciate the imagery,” Ianto retorted blithely.

“What about Jack in high heels?” Gwen uttered innocently.

Jack's voice cut in from behind her, his voice filled with amusement. “Tried them. They didn't do a thing for my calves and they were murder to run in.”  Gwen flushed scarlet and Ianto gave a snort of laughter.

“Didn't you mention something about hot chocolate?” she muttered, her words stilted with embarrassment.

Before Ianto could reply Jack asked crisply,

“What did the autopsy show?”

“Patience, Jack!” Ianto admonished, looking Jack square in the eyes, daring Jack to interrupt him, “Gwen's cold and tired, I've just spent the last half hour up to my elbows in blood, and you look peaky...”

“I do not look peaky,” Jack protested.

“Yes, you do, take it from me. Since according to Gwen I should be a doctor, or a copper, I must be right.” He gave Gwen a brief smile of appreciation. “Look, let me get some coffee for us and hot chocolate for Gwen and I'll brief you both in the board room in ten minutes.”

“When did you get so assertive?” Jack asked, laughing.

“The minute I realised you actually wanted me to brief you on the autopsy without the aid of a mug of my favourite industrial strength roast,” Ianto said drily.

-o0o-

Ianto shoved open the door to the board room with one hand. carefully balancing the laden tray on the other, and stepped into the room. Jack and Gwen had already taken their respective chairs at the far end of the long table. Normally he would have taken the chair at Jack's right hand, the remaining empty chairs emphasising how few of them there were now. Today however, he circled the table and placed a frothy chocolate and cream confection in front of Gwen, which he noticed with amusement caused her eyes to light up appreciatively when she took in the marshmallows perched on the top. Putting a plain mug of coffee in front of Jack (accepted with a wink and a flash of the matinee idol smile), he took a seat at the opposite end of the table, close to the plasma touch-screen display on the wall.

He waited until Jack and Gwen had taken a sip of their drinks, nodding their approval, and smiled as he noticed the dab of cream adorning the end of Gwen's nose. He'd tell her later, after the briefing, he decided. But even before the thought had fully formed he saw Jack reach over and brush it off with a finger. Startled Gwen knocked his hand away and rubbed her nose self-consciously, looking at Ianto with an apologetic glance. Curiously, Ianto did not feel in the least bit perturbed by what he had just seen. Jack was just being Jack, and it was nice to see. And Gwen? Her actions today had proved to Ianto once and for all that she had finally accepted her choice and was no longer a threat to him in terms of Jack's affections. In fact, he thought with surprise, she might now be his strongest ally.

He became conscious that Gwen and Jack were looking at him curiously, and, in Jack's case, a little impatiently. He took a sip of the scalding coffee in front of him and rose, taking a position next to the plasma screen.

“Right then,” he began, his touch bringing up a number of highly coloured images from the Bekeran deep tissue scanner. With a few deft touches he arranged the images across the screen and zoomed in on one until it filled almost the entire screen.

“How did you find your first autopsy then?” Jack asked before Ianto could continue, leaning back in his chair and resting his boots on the table, his coffee resting on his chest.

“Messy,” Ianto admitted with a smile, “but surprisingly fun. I was surprised how much I remembered.” He stopped abruptly, darting an uneasy glance at Jack as he recalled the reason for his detailed medical knowledge. Caring for Lisa, the necessity of being doctor and engineer in equal measure. That act of betrayal had wounded Jack deeply. The last thing he wanted was for that wound to be reopened, not now, when their relationship was so fragile already. Jack, catching his uneasy glance returned a brief reassuring smile, and motioned for Ianto to continue.

“Now then, as you can see the Bekeran scanner identified deep tissue radiation burns affecting not only the epidermal layers but also penetrating beyond the subcutaneous layers. When I took a closer look at the tissue and organs I sampled from Joe's chest cavity, I found severe tissue damage and extensive internal bleeding. But not from any kind of external physical trauma. His cells appear to have literally burst, causing massive fluid loss. To all intents and purposes, he went into hypovolemic shock and died in a matter of minutes. His brain...well, quite frankly it was mush, lacking any discernible structure. He would have been brain dead long before his body itself actually died.” As he spoke Ianto flicked between several of the images on the screen, zooming in on each one and pointing out areas of interest.

At the description of the damage to the brain, he saw Gwen swallow and push her mug of chocolate away from her. It made a harsh grating sound as it slid across the wooden surface. Jack looked at the images with interest and Ianto could sense him assimilating all the information and storing it away for later reference. His capacity to retain information was staggering and Ianto had often wondered whether it was a side effect of his immortality. Perhaps some alteration to his brain chemistry, allowing him to retain information through death and into his next life.

“What can you tell me about the growths?” Jack asked after a moment.

“Those are a bit more tricky,” Ianto confessed, bringing up some magnified images of the growths from Old Joe's and Katie Thompson's faces. At this increased resolution, the spider webs of red veins could clearly be seen extending beneath the dark brown and black pigmentation. “The Beckeran scanner identified the growths as malignant tumours. From the information I've been able to collate so far, the most likely candidates are that they are malignant cutaneous melanomas. The real issue is that there is no way they could have grown so fast naturally. Normally melanomas such as these, especially in such visible locations, would have been identified and excised before they could ever reach the size we see here. I don't imagine Old Joe had a GP, but I checked Katie Thompson's medical records. There was no mention of any growths at her last visit, which, by the way, was only three days ago.”

“For anything relevant?” Jack enquired.

“Not unless you count an emergency consult to try and get the morning-after pill. She went away empty handed. Because she was a minor, the doctor was insisting that he would have to inform her mother.”

Gwen scowled, pursing her lips angrily. “Sounds about right. God forbid anything should be done to prevent teenage pregnancies by actually helping a girl when she's realised she's just made the biggest mistake of her life.” Jack looked sideways at her and raised one eyebrow in question. She shrugged. “Sorry. Not relevant to the events at hand. It just really pisses me off!”

“Anyway,” Ianto continued, “we really need to speak to an expert on melanoma. I don't understand enough about the pathology of the disease to draw any meaningful conclusions. I've identified one, Professor Vivian Merchant. She has a research lab at the University, besides being one of the UK's leading consultant dermatologists.”

“OK, Ianto, can you set up a meeting?”

“Already done, sir. We're meeting her at her lab tomorrow at one.”

“Excellent.”

Jack leaned back in his chair and took a long gulp of his coffee.

“Did the autopsy give us any more information about the radiation signature?”

“No, but I've got the computers analysing the data we pulled from the rift scanner and deep tissue scanner to see if we can pin down the source. At first glance, there isn't anything obviously non-terrestrial, but no terrestrial forms of radiation could cause this amount of damage, this quickly, without destroying the area around the body as well.” Ianto brought up a trace depicting detected radiation wavelengths. Even to Gwen's untutored eye there were no significant spikes, just the usual hedgehog of low level radiation emitted from the rocks on which Penarth stood and slightly higher levels from the atmosphere, quite consistent with a sunny day by the sea. As he finished speaking, Ianto sat down in the nearest chair and leaned back, catching up his own mug of coffee and draining the contents in a single mouthful.

“Right,” Jack said sitting up, his feet returning to the floor with a thud. “Excellent work, Mr Jones. I can't see what more we can do until we get the computer analysis of the radiation signatures. Any idea how long that will take?” He looked at Ianto expectantly.

Ianto couldn't tell whether he was hoping for a short delay, or an extended period. One in which they could pursue their promised agenda. In hope of the latter he replied casually,

“Not really. A couple of hours at least, I should think. Maybe even the morning.” He wasn't lying. He didn't know how long the computer would take, but saying the morning was probably stretching the truth a bit thin. He looked covertly at Jack, to see if he would buy it.

“Morning sounds good.” Jack caught Ianto's eye and winked. “I think we should all go home and get a good night's sleep. Look at it with a fresh pair of eyes tomorrow. Back here at seven?” He looked across at Gwen.

“You're not going to get any argument from me,” she commented, waving tiredly at him. “There's still that sofa and a glass of red with my name on it, remember! I'll see you in the morning.”

“Keep your mobile on,” Jack commented, as she got to her feet and prepared to leave.

Gwen turned and gave him a disbelieving look. “I've worked here awhile now, Jack. I think I know the drill.”

Jack grinned. “You are so easy to wind up, Gwen Cooper. By the way, love the new look...grunge-chic?”

“Piss off, Harkness!” she retorted amiably. “Ianto, I expect you to make him pay...” As she passed Ianto, looking at her with a somewhat dumbstruck expression on his face, she leant down and whispered, so that only Ianto could hear,

“Give him a chance to explain. He's scared you won't listen to him.”

-o0o-

Jack and Ianto sat silently in the boardroom, listening to the noise of Gwen moving about in the Hub below, collecting her things. After several minutes they heard the cog-wheel door roll open and shut so that the only sounds were the faint hum of the computer workstations and the occasional clank from the water pipes. Even Myfanwy was silent, roosting in her nest high above the basin. The storm had passed and the night was now still and quiet. The silence grew, not uncomfortably but with a heady sense of anticipation. They looked at each other, their eyes finally locked, filling the silence with unspoken messages.

“So now we talk,” Jack said finally. His words, though soft, cut through the stillness like a gunshot. His expression was serious, his eyes intense.

“Now we talk,” Ianto agreed with relief, the breath he'd been holding since Jack's eyes had seized his released in a long, deep sigh.


	5. Chapter 5

The silence resumed. Ianto's eyes centred on Jack, waiting for him to make the first move. To speak. To blink even. It was like a game he had played as a child with the tortoiseshell cat from the house across the street, each daring the other to look away first. This felt so different. The air almost crackled with anticipation.

Jack blinked first.

"So, where are we going to do this?" Jack asked brusquely, unable to bear the silence or Ianto's assessing stare any longer. To his annoyance, the brusqueness failed to mask the nervous tremor which shook his words. "My bunker? Your flat?" In desperation Jack fell back on his first line of defence. Sex. The suggestions were accompanied by a blatant leer at Ianto's crotch.

Ianto felt a warm rush of victory as Jack caved first. He'd wanted Jack off-balance and he'd certainly succeeded. Captain Harkness had been reduced to innuendo and lewd glances. Actually, he mused, that was just standard Jack behaviour. He let out an abrupt laugh. "Either of those places and the last thing we'll be doing is talking and you know it, Jack. I'd suggest a restaurant, but I don't fancy having to Retcon the entire staff and clientele at the end of the night. Besides, it's late. I propose we remove to the sofa in the Hub. It's as near neutral ground as we're likely to find."

"It wasn't neutral ground the other night" Jack commented slyly, his grin lascivious.

Ianto flushed scarlet as he recalled the night in question. "I remember. I also remember it took me the best part of two hours to doctor the Hub cameras in order to spare Gwen's blushes."

"Gwen's blushes? Or yours, if she'd mentioned what she'd seen?" Jack teased.

"Jack!" Ianto snapped reprovingly. "Behave!"

Jack held his hands up in mock surrender. "Alright. I'll behave...for now. The sofa it is."

Ianto pushed his chair back, castors squealing loudly. As he got to his feet he idly made a mental note to oil them in the morning, then caught himself. Squeaking castors? There was every chance his world was going to be turned upside down, and he was actually thinking about squeaking castors? Clearly he was losing it. Without looking to see whether Jack was also making a move, he hurriedly left the room.

It was testament to Ianto's nervousness, Jack thought, looking after him with sudden amusement, that their dirty coffee mugs still sat forlornly on the table. Under normal circumstances the mugs would have been whisked away, washed, dried and stowed upside down (to prevent it getting dusty, Ianto insisted) in the cupboard below the coffee machine before Jack even registered that his was empty. But these weren't normal circumstances. As quickly as it had appeared, Jack's amusement vanished, his stomach turning over with a lurch of uncertainty.

He followed Ianto almost reluctantly out of the boardroom and down the stairs, his boots ringing loud on the metal treads. He found himself counting steps, working out the number of strides before he reached the long battered leather sofa pushed incongruously against the white tiled wall. Anything to stop him thinking about what he was going to say to the man who already sat perched on one end of the soft leather seat. The man who sat straight-backed, his whole body screaming tension and nervousness, looking like a prisoner bound for the gallows. And yet he was the one who had already made the difficult leap, told Jack how he felt. He was in love with him. That truth was still almost unbelievable to Jack. That someone, especially Ianto, could love him unconditionally, knowing who he was, knowing what he was. No, the fear in Ianto's face was something else. The fear of what Jack would say, that his love would be thrown back in his face. That Jack would listen to his head rather than his heart and choose a life of solitude over a life, however short, with him. And Jack knew, looking at Ianto's brave, woefully stoic face as he approached, that if he made that choice he would kill Ianto Jones, just as surely as if he had put a gun to his head and pulled the trigger. With a growing sense of apprehension, Jack realised he had never felt as scared in his life. No, not scared. Terrified. Of all the monsters they had fought and the enemies they had defeated, not one of them had terrified him as much as the prospect of admitting his feelings to Ianto Jones.

-o0o-

Heart pounding, he came to a halt in front of the sofa, looking at the remaining spaces on the leather cushions. Ianto's gaze flickered from Jack's face, where it had been fixed ever since Jack had begun to descend the stairs, to the cushion beside him, clearly wanting Jack to sit where he could lean back on the older man and feel the reassuring warmth of his presence through his shirt as they talked. Jack stared at the empty cushion for a long moment, the temptation to occupy the seat and take the young man in his arms almost unbearable. But deep down he knew that if he took that seat, the words would never be said, and the Hub cameras would need doctoring once more.

With a tiny apologetic shake of his head, Jack deliberately sat down at the opposite end to Ianto, leaning back into the scuffed, dark brown leather with the pretence of nonchalance, while in reality every fibre of his being was strung taut with anticipation. For an instant Ianto's eyes flared with hurt. He could understand why Jack had put distance between them. When they were close the urge to touch, to feel, to caress, was just too strong. The world retreated in nothingness and the only reality was desire. There were things that had to be said before they could retreat into that reality and the distance was necessary to do that. But the gap, although only inches, at that moment felt like a mile wide chasm, one which they might never be able to span. As if reading his thoughts, Jack reached out a hand and briefly caressed Ianto's cheek, his fingertips feather-light. At Jack's touch Ianto felt the chasm recede, the hurt subsides, the distance between them once more a single tatty leather cushion.

Ianto mouth curved in a small, sad, half-smile of understanding and he allowed himself to lean back into cushions, unconsciously mirroring Jack's pose. The silence grew around them once more. Their eyes were fixed on each other's faces: Ianto's wide and unblinking, filled with patience; Jack's measuring, deep in contemplation. They both knew this was the difficult part, making the first move, and both of them knew that it was Jack that had to make it. The minutes ticked by.

From his position Ianto could just make out, from the corner of his eye, the swirling clock screensaver on Gwen's computer as it clicked over from 22:59 to 23:00. It was late, although still early by Torchwood standards. It seemed almost another lifetime since he had lost it with Jack in his office that morning. Had it really been just over twelve hours ago? At nine o'clock that morning it had been just another typical Torchwood day. Gwen investigating a weird dead body in Penarth; Jack trying to do paperwork and denying his grief; and him trying to pretend that he wasn't really in love with his boss, that Torchwood wasn't falling apart around their ears, that seeing Jack in pain wasn't killing him inside. By ten-thirty the world had gone to shit, all the buried pain exploding in their faces. And now, twelve hours later, here they are. He's admitted that he is in love with his boss, to his boss' face no less, and now he's waiting to find out if his boss is in love with him. As someone once sang, ‘What a difference a day makes’. At least Ianto prayed it would. For him and Jack. Otherwise they, and Torchwood, would be lost.

"I can't do this here," Jack blurted out loudly, shattering the silence. Ianto blinked, the violence of Jack's pronouncement startling him out of his thoughts.

"What?" he asked in bewilderment, his heart starting to sink, as he digested Jack's words. Was Jack about to lose his nerve?

"I can't talk to you here," Jack said more quietly, the words catching in his throat.

Ianto tried to keep his growing fears buried as he asked gently, "Why not?"

"It's... too easy for you to run here." Jack's voice was hesitant.

"Why? Do you think I might run? Am I not going to like what you have to say?" Ianto questioned softly. "Or is it more that you're afraid you might run?" he continued with brutal honesty but keeping his voice low and calm.

Jack lowered his eyes self-consciously. Ianto was right, of course. Somehow his spur of the moment confession, so easy to say to Gwen, triggered by the sudden and very real fear that he might drive Ianto away, now seemed almost impossible to say to Ianto's face. The words stuck in his throat, choking him. I love you. How could three words be so hard to say? He'd said them before, often, but rarely had they actually meant anything. Just a means to an end. And that was the crux of the matter. This time he meant them. They were not just words. This time they would be a vow and if he said them he was accepting all the risks and complications that went with them.

"Did you mean what you said before in the medical bay?" he said, raising his eyes once more to Ianto's face, all his doubts and hesitations writ large on his features.

"Yes," Ianto replied simply, his gaze never wavering.

"I'm not going to run. Ever."

And Ianto knew he wasn't talking about here and now, this conversation. He leant forward and took Jack's hand, rising to his feet.

"Come on," he said huskily.

"I thought you wanted to talk?"

"I do, but I was wrong about where. I thought we needed some distance, a chance for clarity. I was a fool. The last thing we need right now is distance."

Wordlessly, Jack rose and followed Ianto towards the bunker where he occasionally spent the night time hours laid on a bunk, staring at the stained ceiling and pretending to sleep. Now, looking around the cramped room as he descended the ladder after Ianto, the bunker looked sordid and squalid, even with the few personal touches Ianto had introduced since he'd become a regular visitor. The metal framed bed which took up nearly the entire space was now topped with a decent mattress rather than the lumpy misshapen excuse Jack had used for the last twenty years. It had been replaced after the first time Ianto had visited, following Ianto's cry of disgust, "Jesus, Jack, I almost put my back out on that thing. Just how long has it been here?" The snowy white duvet and pillows were later additions and, no matter when Jack made use of the bunker now, with or without Ianto's accompaniment, there was always the fresh smell of clean sheets and Ianto's indefinable but unmistakable scent to mask the underlying air of dampness.

Jack stood to one side as Ianto shrugged off his suit jacket, hanging it neatly over the back of a warped, wooden, folding chair which was tucked in behind the ladder, which Jack knew Ianto had brought down for that purpose alone. The love and care which Ianto bestowed on his suits was almost comical, but Jack wasn't laughing now. The waistcoat and tie followed the suit jacket onto the chair. As Ianto loosened his shirt from the waistband of his trousers and began to unfasten the buttons, revealing the smooth white skin beneath, Jack felt his mouth go dry. No matter how often he saw his lover's skin, even though he now felt he knew every inch, every scar, every blemish, he couldn't get over how beautiful he was. Every time was a revelation.

Ianto paused, shirt half off his shoulders and looked at Jack quizzically.

"Am I going to be alone in this endeavour?" He smiled at Jack's arrested expression. "Jack?"

Jack blinked at his question, fighting to tear his eyes from Ianto's chest and focus instead on Ianto's knowing smile.

"What? Oh right." He laughed self-consciously, hurriedly pulling his braces off his shoulders and fumbling with the buttons of his own shirt in an attempt to cover his embarrassment. What the hell was wrong with him? He was an immortal fifty-first century ex-time agent who had had more sexual conquests than he could remember with species that the man in front of him had never even heard of. And yet here he was like a gauche schoolboy the first time he realises that for him, men are the attractive sex. No, Jack realised, sitting down abruptly on the edge of the bed, like someone who has just realised that the person in front of him was the One. That, until now mythical, person who was the other half of your soul. And that was what Ianto was. The One. The person who made him whole. Suddenly there wasn't enough air in the room. He drew in deep gulps of air, willing his lungs to fill. His vision blurred, the room spun.

"Jack?...Jack?" Ianto's concerned voice penetrated the haze, his scared face swam in front of Jack's eyes. He felt Ianto's hands, cool and firm, take his shoulders, laying him back onto the bed.

"Jack? Say something..." Ianto ordered, his concern now bordering on panic.

"I'm fine," Jack muttered, struggling to sit upright. After a second, Ianto's protesting hands released him and he sat up, a touch unsteadily. To his relief the room was steady once more.

"Fine, my arse," Ianto spat disbelievingly, a supporting arm around Jack's shoulders. "What the hell was that, Jack? You looked like you were about to faint."

Turning, Jack gave Ianto a reassuring smile. "Honest, Yan, it was nothing. I just had a bit of an epiphany."

"An epiphany? About the case?"

Jack nearly laughed out loud. Typical Ianto Jones. Unable to believe that anything so monumental could have anything to do with him.

"No, about you," Jack admitted. "You should get into bed; you'll catch your death." He looked appreciatively at Ianto who was now sat beside him on the edge of the bed, totally naked, totally dumbstruck.

Flushing, Ianto scrambled under the duvet, moving across to the far side of the bed, waiting for Jack to join him, his mind whirling. An epiphany about him? Something so astounding Jack forgot how to breathe? Because that was what Ianto had just witnessed. A grown man forgetting how to breathe. His shocked thoughts were interrupted as Jack slid in beside him, his legs searching to tangle with Ianto's. Ianto snuggled in closer until their bodies were touching along their whole lengths. With a soft, relieved sigh, he lifted his head from the pillow and let it lie on Jack's chest, listening to the steady, and rather rapid beat of Jack's heart.

They lay in contented silence, enjoying the radiating warmth of each other.

"Is this better?" Ianto whispered, allowing one arm to wind across Jack's waist. These were the moments with Jack he loved best, lying quiet, wrapped around each other, the world and Torchwood far away.

"Much," Jack affirmed, trapping the arm beneath his own, luxuriating in the weight of Ianto's arm across his taut stomach. Waves of heated desire radiated outwards from the point of contact, making it difficult to concentrate.

"We still need to talk, Jack," Ianto reminded him softly. "We both said some things today. We can't pretend that never happened.

"I know, Yan. I just don't know what to say. It all sounded so simple in my head, but now..." Jack trailed off helplessly.

"Just be honest," Ianto replied, lifting his head so he could turn and look into Jack's face, "that's all I ask." He rested his head on the pillow, shuffling onto his side but keeping his hand firmly tucked under Jack's. Jack did the same, turning so they were now looking at each other across the pillow, faces only inches apart.

Ianto waited. He knew this was difficult for Jack and wasn't about to try and push him into saying something he wasn't ready to say. He watched Jack lick his lips, catch his bottom lip between his teeth, his brow furrowed in deep thought.

Finally he looked up, his blue eyes startling in their honesty. "What you said this morning, about something in me dying inside the night we lost Tosh and Owen, was true. I couldn't protect them. Everyone Torchwood touches dies, except me." He gave a brittle laugh. "The ultimate irony, don't you think? I thought that this time, with this team, one I hand-picked, things could be different. And even after Suzie turned rogue, I thought I could keep it all under control. Then the Doctor came back and I took my eye off the ball. I'd waited so long for him that when he finally showed up I thought I didn't have a choice."

Ianto's eyes darkened. Jack's abandonment of them to follow the Doctor was something he didn't like to think about. The fear that Jack might leave again if the Doctor ever snapped his fingers was ever present. The Dalek invasion and Jack running away to help the Doctor save the world, still so fresh in Ianto's mind, had shaken him worse than he'd let on to Jack.

Jack briefly squeezed the hand that lay beneath his as he continued, "But while I was away I realised he couldn't fix me and I didn't want to be with him. So I came home. And for the first time it really did feel like home. I knew this was where I belonged, and I knew what I wanted. Then Owen died and, even though I told myself I brought him back for his benefit, that was a lie. It was for my benefit. Because I couldn't bear the idea that I'd failed you as badly as I'd failed everyone else. And then Hart came back, and Gray, and I lost everyone anyway."

"You lost Tosh and Owen, not me and Gwen," Ianto argued.

Jack shook his head sadly. "No, in truth I lost you both as well. Because for the first time we weren't invincible. That night I saw fear in your eyes for the first time. Real fear. The knowledge that one day it would be you lying on the floor, the life bleeding out of you. And that was what died in me that day: the hope I could protect you all from this life. What I said this morning, that running from Torchwood and me is your only hope of escape? It's true."

"And you know that isn't going to happen," Ianto stated firmly.

"I know. I realised that today. You gave me a lot to think about, Ianto. A lot of decisions to make."

"And what did you decide?" Only the faintest quiver in Ianto's tone betrayed his apprehension.

"That I need you. That I can't do this alone. That I don't want to. If I give up now, then everything that Tosh and Owen, and you and Gwen have sacrificed over the last few years would be for nothing. It would dishonour you and them."

"So that's why you're staying, honour?" Ianto couldn't help the sharpness that crept into his voice.

Jack's hand tightened over his involuntarily.

"No!" he protested. "That's not why and you know it." He released Ianto's hand, running his own through his hair in frustration. "I knew I'd fuck this up," he muttered under his breath. "There's a reason I don't do domestic." His hand stilled, still tangled in his hair, and he continued, almost as though he were speaking to himself.

"I'm here because of you. I said before that Earth feels like home now, but that isn't strictly true. Where you are feels like home."

"You say that, Jack, but you won't let me in," Ianto countered, past hurts tingeing his words with disbelief. "After you came back, every time I tried to get behind that armour of yours, you pushed me away. Made me think all I was, was a quick, convenient shag. Even after Tosh and Owen died, you hid from me in all the ways that matter."

Jack laid his hand flat against Ianto's cheek.

"I'm sorry," he said slowly, his expression filled with regret. "I shouldn't have done that. Shouldn't have let you think what we had wasn't...isn't...important to me. You are more precious to me than anyone I have ever known." He stopped, lowering his eyes to the pillow once more, biting his lower lip.

"I'm scared," he confessed finally, his voice tentative, almost inaudible. "I'm scared how much I need you. But what scares me more is the thought that I might lose you. Every time you walk out of the door I'm terrified that something is going to happen to you. That I won't be able to protect you. The fear paralyses me. I can't think. I can't move. How can I possibly keep you safe like that? So I thought, if I kept you at arm’s length, if I consciously kept my distance, I'd be protecting you. Stupid, right? All I've succeeded in doing is losing you anyway." To his horror Jack felt hot tears cascading down his face.

Ianto watched, his heart pounding. It was not a declaration of love but it was enough. He hadn't believed Jack would ever open up to him like this. In truth he hadn't thought Jack was capable. And those three little words he longed to hear cross Jack's lips? They might not have been said aloud, but the tears on Jack's cheeks, the pain in Jack's voice as he confronted the very real possibility that he had lost Ianto already, really said everything Ianto needed to know.

"Oh, Jack," Ianto said, his own eyes filling with tears as, taking Jack's damp cheeks between his hands, he looked deep into Jack's tortured gaze. "You don't get it, do you? You haven't lost me. The things I said this morning, about wishing it had been me that died? That was just grief and guilt. Perfectly normal reactions to the people you love dying. But I saw what that guilt was doing to you and I couldn't seem to do anything to ease it. You shut me out. And this morning it suddenly became all too much. You can't watch the person you love in that much pain and just do nothing. You can't watch, and you can't walk away. And that's what became clear to me today. I did a lot of thinking after you left..."

"Ran away, you mean," Jack muttered guiltily.

"Alright, yes, ran away," Ianto agreed with the ghost of a smile. "I realised that, however you feel about me, I needed to make sure that you knew that I'm in love with you. And that means I don't have a choice about being with you. Even if you don't feel the same way." He lowered one hand to put a finger on Jack's lips, sensing he was about to launch into an awkward avowal. "There's something else I need you to know." He caressed Jack's cheek with one thumb as he spoke, watching the shadows behind Jack's eyes lessen with every movement. "I have the same fears. Every time I see you die, Jack, my heart stops, waiting to see if you'll come back. Every time. I have to be there with you when you die. I need to hold you in my arms when you take that first breath, to know I'm not going to be alone. I'm afraid too, cariad, but we can't let that fear stop us from doing what we have to do. Besides..." he continued, pulling Jack closer and kissing him lightly on each corner of his mouth. "...how can you stop me from following you? I am an adult, after all."

As he spoke he released Jack's face and allowed one hand to trail down Jack's chest. There was more that needed to be said. In the cold light of day, the fears of tonight would return, the battle with grief and guilt would continue. But for tonight, enough words had been spoken. Now all Ianto wanted was to drive the last of the pain from Jack's eyes. Remove the shadows from the pale blue depths and make them smile again.

As he allowed his fingers to drift lower, tracing the well-defined planes of Jack's chest and stomach, he felt Jack squirm in response, and a wicked smile played across his lips. Immediately Jack rolled onto his back, pulling Ianto after him until he lay sprawled across Jack's chest, his hand trapped between them. Ianto wriggled his fingers experimentally, grinning in satisfaction as Jack's head fell back against the pillow with a low moan. He flexed his fingers again, his hand pushing lower, his fingers probing.

With a louder moan of barely suppressed desire, Jack's hands frantically pulled at the back of Ianto's head, trying to pull his face to his. Instead Ianto manoeuvred his mouth next to Jack's ear, teasing his earlobe with gentle nips.

"Remember what I said earlier?" Ianto whispered with a sensual laugh breathed against Jack's ear. "In the Hub no one can hear you scream? I think we should put that to the test."

Ianto moved his mouth to Jack's, his tongue plunging deeply and forcefully, eagerly tasting, the faint trace of coffee, bitter and rich, still lingering. At the same time his fingers, their quest complete, tightened involuntarily and he couldn't help but glory in the moment as he swallowed Jack's scream.

-o0o-

Ianto breathed a deep shuddering sigh and wearily lifted his head from the pillow to find his movement impeded by the heavy weight of Jack slumped across him. He smiled contentedly, listening to Jack's slow steady breaths. This seemed to be the only time Jack ever really slept, the only time he ever seemed truly at rest. Ianto loved watching Jack sleep, his long eyelashes heavy against flushed cheeks. Even now when the weight of Jack's body across his own meant that every breath was a battle. He never made any attempt to wake him, but Jack never seemed to sleep for long. Always, within a few minutes of Ianto's waking, Jack would follow him into wakefulness with a lazy smile of fulfilment. Ianto lived for those smiles, ones Gwen would never see.

As if reading his thoughts, Jack stirred, his arms stretching with slow deliberation, reminding Ianto forcefully of a cat. A lion or a tiger, not the strange feline 'Pusska' which persisted in hanging around the Plass at base of the water tower. Opening his eyes, Jack pushed back on his arms until he was propped above Ianto, his mouth creasing into the smile Ianto had been waiting for.

"So did we prove the theory?" he asked idly, lowering his head to place a soft, brief kiss on Ianto's lips.

"No idea. We didn't follow proper experimental procedures. No way of testing outcome," Ianto muttered, distracted by the feel of Jack's mouth, now tracing a path down the hollow of his neck towards his collarbone.

"Well, I found the outcome very satisfactory," Jack replied lazily, licking a bead of sweat from Ianto's slick skin.

"Jack," Ianto moaned, this time in frustration. "Gwen will be back soon,"

"Gwen won't dare show her face until bang on seven o'clock and it's barely four. We have plenty of time," Jack assured him, his tongue now flicking at a particularly sensitive spot behind Ianto's ear.

Ianto gulped as waves of arousal shuddered through his body. The same body he had thought, less than five minutes ago, was completely sated.

"How can you tell?" he gasped, desperately trying to ignore the sensations Jack was evoking.

"I just can," Jack grinned as he observed Ianto's futile resistance. "And you're talking too much. It's my turn."

"Your turn to what?" Ianto asked helplessly, knowing the answer full well.

"To make you scream, Ianto Jones. What else?"

-o0o-

"What did you call me?" Jack asked sometime later, as they lay, legs still entwined, Jack's head resting on Ianto's shoulder, cocooned in the snowy white duvet against the early morning chill which seemed to pervade even this deep into the Hub.

"When?" Ianto muttered sleepily, trying and failing to stifle a wide yawn.

"Before. You know. When you said you were afraid too," Jack persisted. He was curious. He had never heard an endearment pass Ianto's lips before. At least he hoped that's what it was. It had been in Welsh, so realistically Ianto could have been calling him anything. Idiot. Prat. Wanker.

Ianto chuckled, "How can you have lived in Wales for nearly a hundred years..."

"On and off," Jack interjected.

"On and off," conceded Ianto, "...and not learnt any Welsh at all. I despair of you."

"Are you going to tell me, or do I have to ask Gwen?" Jack threatened, smiling evilly as he watched Ianto visibly blanch.

"I called you cariad," Ianto said, self-consciously burying his head under the edge of the duvet to hide the blush he knew was staining his cheeks.

"Cariad." Jack rolled the word around on his tongue, copying Ianto's pronunciation. "Cariad. I rather like that. What does it mean?"

"It's the Welsh word for arsehole," Ianto said flatly, keeping his expression neutral for all of two seconds in the face of Jack's gasp of shocked outrage. Jack fumbled under the duvet until he found the spot on Ianto's side which, he knew from prior experience, would provoke the response he was looking for, and, with a smile of revenge, started to tickle.

Ianto positively leapt from the bed, giggling helplessly, writhing to escape Jack's fingers.

"Arsehole, eh?" Jack taunted, his fingers pursuing Ianto, who by now had become hopelessly tangled in the voluminous duvet.

"Stop it. I surrender," Ianto gasped, fighting for breath between uncontrollable peals of laughter.

"Tell me," Jack insisted, his fingers suddenly ceasing their relentless pursuit, instead clamping down over Ianto's wrists, pinning him to the bed. Jack's face loomed above him, the pale blue eyes smoky with desire. The laughter died instantly, leaving Ianto desperately trying to pull air into his burning lungs.

"Tell me," Jack repeated softly.

"It means love, or sweetheart. A term of endearment. Between people in love," Ianto explained breathlessly, almost defiantly.

"And that's how you think of me?" Jack said in wonderment.

"Yes." It was that simple, Ianto realised, at least for him. "Do you mind?"

"How could I mind?" Jack smiled, shaking his head. "I don't deserve you, Yan."

"Probably not," Ianto agreed, returning Jack's smile. "You know, it's funny. I absolutely hate people who call me Yan. Always have. I can't stand it." He saw Jack pale and continued rapidly, "Except you for some reason. When you call me Yan I just want to..."

"Want to what?" Jack pushed, his face so close to Ianto now he filled his entire vision, their lips only centimetres apart.

"Do this," Ianto murmured, closing the gap to deliver a feather light kiss to Jack's waiting lips. "Cariad."

"Excuse me, boys," Gwen strident voice drifted down the ladder into the bunker.

Instantly Jack and Ianto shot to opposite sides of the bed, each trying to take the duvet with him. Realising the duvet wouldn't stretch to cover them both, Jack changed his mind and scuttled back to Ianto's side of the bed, furthest from the ladder and Gwen's no doubt curious gaze.

"I realise you're a bit busy, but I was wondering if either of you were planning on doing any work today?"

"I told you to come in at seven," Jack called up, his irritation at being interrupted evident.

"I did," Gwen countered. "I've been kicking my heels up here for the last hour, Harkness."

"I thought you 'just knew' the time, Jack," Ianto hissed, trying to work out whether he could reach his shirt and trousers without Gwen seeing him.

"I was distracted," Jack retorted, not bothering to lower his voice. "Besides, I didn't see you keeping an eye on the time. Where was the much vaulted stopwatch tonight?"

"Piss off, cariad"

Somewhere above he heard Gwen's snort of laughter. Ianto groaned. How was he going to be able to look her in the face after this?

"Listen, you two. I'm popping out for about twenty minutes, since Ianto has clearly been far too occupied to make the coffee this morning. You have been warned."

They heard the sound of Gwen's heels fade into the distance.

"I think we should consider ourselves busted," Jack laughed, throwing off the duvet and clambering to his feet.

"You think?" Ianto returned drily, clambering off the bed after him. "Bags I get the shower first." He snatched up his shirt and pulled it on over his shoulders, still damp with sweat.

"We could share," Jack suggested with a grin, eyes fixed firmly on Ianto's still naked backside.

"We've got twenty minutes Jack," Ianto protested, although his eyes were alight with barely contained desire.

"Eighteen minutes," Jack corrected him. "Plenty of time," he promised, following Ianto closely up the ladder.

-o0o-

Precisely seventeen minutes and forty three seconds later, Ianto pulled the Windsor knot of his tie straight and looked at himself critically in the half-steamed-up mirror of the locker room. He used the side of his hand to clear a space on the fogged up glass. Not bad. Apart from his still damp hair, there was nothing in his face or dress to show that he'd spent the last eight hours being shagged senseless by his boss.

The boss who even now was standing behind him, one hand possessively resting on his hip, surveying Ianto's reflection in the mirror with frank appreciation.

"Put him down, Harkness," Gwen ordered, striding through the door into to locker room, bearing a pasteboard tray containing three take-out corrugated cardboard cups. Reluctantly Jack let his hand fall away, reaching for one of the cups and taking a sip of the steaming liquid. He grimaced.

"Not a patch on yours," he complained, looking accusingly at Ianto.

"I was distracted," Ianto replied, sticking his tongue out childishly. "Shut up and drink your coffee." He took a swig from the cup Gwen placed in his hand, and wrinkled his nose.

"OK, point taken."

Gwen watched the exchange in silence. It looked like things had gone well. It was a shame she had to ruin their morning.

"Be thankful you got that," she retorted, her face grim. "Andy called while I was out. They've found another one. But this time they've got a witness."


	6. Chapter 6

Gwen found herself relegated, yet again, to the back seat of the SUV, as the three of them made their way through the sluggish morning rush hour traffic, towards the site of the third victim. For once Jack seemed content to sit patiently as they inched forward, refusing Gwen's suggestion that they switch on the blue flashing lights and, quote, 'Get a bloody shift on'. Of course it could have something to do with the fact that Jack was sat in the driver’s seat, one hand on the wheel, the other firmly planted on Ianto's knee, a relaxed, contented smile accentuating his handsome profile. For his part, Ianto was laid back in his seat, eyes closed, only the slowly circling action of his thumb on the back of Jack's hand betraying the fact that he wasn't asleep. At any other time Gwen knew she would have made some jokey, faintly cutting comment on their blatant togetherness. Today she was just relieved to see them happy. Even so, they did have a case, something the boys appeared to have forgotten.

“Well, since you seem to be content to take your own sweet time getting us there, do you want the results of the analysis of the radiation signature?” Gwen commented, picking up a single sheet of computer printout and waving it in the air between the two front seats. “Or shall I just leave the report here, on the back seat, unread and unloved?”

To her satisfaction both Ianto and Jack flushed somewhat guiltily at her words. Clearly both of them had completely forgotten about last night's analysis, occupied as they had been. Jack, briefly taking his eyes off the road, turned his head to direct a wide-eyed look of innocence in her general direction.

“What?” he protested indignantly. “We were busy. Staff Review and Development. It's very important, you know. I actually have to file paperwork!”

There was a low cough from the direction of the passenger seat. Ianto, Gwen saw, was looking pointedly at Jack, his eyebrows raised in high arches on his forehead.

“I mean, Ianto has to file paperwork.” Jack corrected quickly, with an apologetic smile in his lover's direction. Gwen gave an exaggerated roll of her eyes. Unfortunately, given her position, neither of the occupants of the front seat saw it.

“Jack, why don't you just say that you and Ianto were having great make-up sex and have done with it? I think we've gone a little past the coy stage, don't you?”

Ianto spluttered at Gwen's weary pronouncement, then gave a snort of laughter. She was right, of course. Just exactly who were they trying to fool?

“Too right.” His face wreathed in a sudden broad grin, Ianto leaned over and planted an exaggerated smacking kiss on Jack's cheek. Startled, Jack's hands tightened instinctively on the steering wheel, sending the SUV into a violent swerve across the carriageway. Instantly car horns all around blared into life.

Pleased with Jack's reaction, Ianto settled back in his seat and said smugly, “And I'll have you know it wasn't great make-up sex. It was mind-shattering make-up sex. Top-of-the-lungs...”

“OK. I get it!” Gwen interrupted hastily, suddenly aware that she was in danger of learning far more about her colleagues than was good for her. “We've established you enjoyed great sex. So...is everything OK now?” The final question was asked carefully, her eyes darting between Jack's curiously red-cheeked profile and Ianto's continued smug grin.

Ianto's grin faltered just a little, but his tone was light as he replied, “It's better. Much better. But I'm not sure we're quite at OK yet.” As he spoke he looked to Jack for confirmation. Jack let his gaze slide sideways to meet Ianto's eyes and nodded.

“OK might take a while,” he agreed, returning his eyes to the road. For a moment the only sound was the low roar of the SUV's engine. “So Gwen, are you going to tell us what the analysis revealed or are you waiting for the information to psychically transfer itself to our brains?”

“Bugger all,” Gwen responded tartly. “That's what it showed. Bugger all.”

Jack head turned once more in her direction, his expression now incredulous.

“What?”

“Apart from the Rift energy which we already knew about, the analysis found nothing other than UVA, UVB and low levels of the natural stuff you get from certain types of rock. In other words, a completely normal radiation signature for Penarth,” Gwen explained, frustration evident in her voice.

“And it took all night for the computer to come up with that assessment?” Jack questioned disbelievingly.

“No.” Gwen shot a mischievous glance in Jack's direction and, with a distinct smirk on her face, said innocently, “According to the log, the results came through about twenty minutes after I left the Hub last night.” Out of the corner of her eye she saw Ianto shift uncomfortably in his seat.

“There was one thing,” Gwen continued, “but I can't see how it's relevant.” She paused.

“Go on,” Jack said, with a hint of irritation, “or are you pausing for dramatic effect?” Gwen shot him a look of pure venom.

“The computer did flag that the levels of UVB were higher than expected, although still within tolerance limits for Earth.”

“How high?” Jack eased the SUV into a higher gear as they finally broke free of the traffic, heading out of Penarth along Lavernock Road which skirted around the coast.

“The recorded levels were more consistent with an equatorial latitude rather than South Wales,” Gwen replied, checking the readout displayed on her PDA.

“OK. Weird, but not impossible,” Ianto commented.

“Given that we currently have nothing to go on, I'm going to take 'weird but not impossible' as a significant lead,” Jack stated, suddenly hauling on the steering wheel to send the SUV into a sharp left turn onto a side road that snaked its way down to the seafront. Taken by surprise at the unexpected turn, Gwen found herself sprawled across the back seat. Struggling to pull herself back upright, she caught sight of Jack's smirk in the rear view mirror. Sometimes Jack had the mentality of a three year old, she thought with a sigh.

“Gwen, did you load the results of the analysis into the scanner so we can compare the results with whatever we find here?” he asked abruptly, as he sent the SUV into another dizzying turn, narrowly avoiding the high hedgerows that lined the lane. This time however Gwen was prepared and held tightly onto the back of Jack's seat.

“Of course I did. Give me some credit, Jack” she snapped.

As she spoke Jack slammed on the brakes, bringing the SUV to a shuddering halt. In the back seat Gwen, already leaning forward to talk to Jack, was now catapulted into the back of the driver's seat, her seat belt digging hard into her shoulder and chest as it pulled taut.

“Jesus!” she swore. “You...could...have...given me...some warning!” Every word was accompanied by a shaky breath as she tried to pull air back into her lungs.

“Sorry,” Jack apologised with an impish grin. He waved his hand in front of him by way of explanation. Her eyes following his signalling hand Gwen caught sight, just metres ahead of them on the road, the flashing blue lights of Cardiff's finest. Moreover, the shiny black bonnet of the SUV appeared to have avoided the bumper of the police morgue van by mere centimetres.

“Damn, I was hoping we'd beat them here,” Jack muttered.

Exploring the tender flesh of her shoulder with her fingertips (she would definitely have a mother of a bruise later), Gwen refrained from pointing out Jack's less than hurried progress though the traffic of Cardiff.

Jack had already climbed down from the SUV and was striding down the steep sandy path leading to the beach below before Gwen and Ianto even had time to unfasten their seatbelts. Ianto jumped down and opened the rear door offering a hand to Gwen. Gwen took it.

“Ever the gentleman,” she smiled, as she stepped down.

“I try,” Ianto responded with a wry smile. He looked away after Jack's retreating figure. “I don't know what you said to him yesterday morning. That is where you went, isn't it? After you left me?”

Gwen nodded cautiously. From his profile she couldn't tell if Ianto resented her interference in his and Jack's affairs or not.

“I didn't mean to interfere,” she began apologetically, then stopped short. “No, that's not true. I did mean to interfere. I couldn't bear to see the pair of you...I mean...” She stopped abruptly as Ianto turned back to face her, reaching across and kissing her very gently and chastely on the lips, his mouth warm and firm on hers.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely, pulling away. “For interfering.”

“Oi! Are you two coming?” Jack's yell echoed back up the path to them. “Dead body. Unknown alien menace. Any of this sound familiar?”

Gwen gave Ianto an amused look. “It's a wonder Torchwood stayed secret as long as it did.”

“It's the American accent,” Ianto explained with a laugh, “and the face. Every time he mentions aliens in public, people look around for a movie camera. Independence Day, Cardiff-style.” He opened the back of the SUV, pulling out the obligatory metal case, and, slamming it closed, set off after Jack. With a sigh Gwen opened the driver’s side door, pulled the keys from the ignition and closed the door once more, activating the automatic door locks. It was a miracle the SUV didn't get nicked more often. A top-secret organisation with secret entrances, invisible lifts, and the least secure car in Cardiff.

-o0o-

The path cut down steeply through the shale and sandstone cliffs that defined Lavernock Point, depositing Gwen on a shingle beach of dark grey shale pebbles rubbed smooth by the waves, cut through with swathes of long, grey, flat rocks. The tide was out, muddy-coloured sand visible at the distant water’s edge. Despite the blazing sun, a cold breeze blew in sharp and cutting from the sea, deterring even the most hardy holiday makers from the holiday park on the cliffs above from venturing down to the beach this early in the day. The expanse of rock and shingle was deserted apart from the tight knot of policemen, complete with the white-suited SOCO team that was stationed fifty or so yards down the beach. They huddled close to the cliff face that rose high and sheer above them, topped by the remains of remains of a World War Two gun battery.

Gwen had visited here a hundred times before. For years it had been her fortress of solitude. A place where she could come and think. Where she could cast off the stresses of the day in the shrill call of the gulls and the eerie whistle of the wind as it swept through the tall grass on the cliff top. She had found this place on her first day on the beat, sent on a wild goose chase by some of her more Neanderthal-like colleagues, to arrest a supposed stripper upsetting the tourists. But all she had found was an empty beach to soothe her indignant soul. She had returned here to find that peace many times since: the day she had seen her first dead body; her first dead child; the morning after she cheated on Rhys with Owen for the first time; the day Jack had vanished from the Hub without trace. Key moments in her life connected to this windswept expanse of shingle, rock and salt-filled air.

But she couldn't come here now. Looking out to sea, she found the hazy outline of Flat Holm Island and shivered, knowing the suffering that was taking place just a few miles from shore. Suffering she somehow felt responsible for, even though she knew realistically there was nothing she or Torchwood could do to stop it. This wasn't the only place she could see Flat Holm from, of course, but this was the only place where her knowledge threatened to overwhelm her. The place she had inevitably retreated to when she had finally realised that this was something that couldn't be fixed. Standing at the water's edge that day, she had screamed at the injustice into the howling wind. The peace of her retreat had been forever shattered.

Her upbeat mood suddenly quelled, she resolutely tore her gaze from the sea and the island and focused determinedly on the crime scene before her as one of the policemen broke away from the huddled group and hurried towards her. She was unsurprised to see it was Andy Davidson and she cautiously made her way over the uneven stones towards him, her high heeled boots giving her a curious rolling gait.

“Hey, Andy.” She greeted him with a weary smile, recognising from the expression on his face that he was about to launch into one of his self-righteous 'told-you-so' type speeches. She wasn't disappointed.

“So, it's important enough for Torchwood to care about now, is it?” Andy shot at her with a sarcastic smile as he came to a halt just before her. They were about ten yards off from the rest of police, who were now being given their orders by Jack, judging by his expansive hand gestures. Whatever he was saying was lost on the wind.

“We always cared about it,” she retorted, knowing even as she said it that it was a lie. They had been interested, but they hadn't cared. Except for Ianto. He always cared about every victim, every time. “Look Andy, just because you haven't been in the loop doesn't mean we've not been working on it.” Guilt made her tone sharp. She saw a shadow of hurt cross Andy's face and felt immediately contrite.

“I'm sorry,” she continued in a gentler tone. “We've been...really pushed, you know...since Owen and Tosh. I honestly thought Katie was a one-off anomaly. I know that doesn't make it any better,” she added hurriedly seeing Andy's face set in a mutinous look. “It's not an excuse; we should have taken her death more seriously. But to be brutal there is only so much we can do, and there wasn't that much to go on.”

“And have you got more to go on now?”

“Not much,” Gwen admitted with a frown. “We know what COD is, but we don't know what actually killed them, although we are pretty certain the Rift is involved in some way. We were hoping this witness of yours might be able to point us in the right direction.”

It was Andy's turn to frown. “I'm not sure what you are going to get from him. The few things he's said have sounded like gibberish to me.”

“One man's gibberish is another man's wisdom,” Gwen said sagely, her face finally cracking into a smile. They walked on towards the crime scene. Jack now appeared to be having a heated discussion with one of the senior police officers. Clearly they were less inclined to hand over the crime scene to a shadowy government organisation when it was an upstanding member of the community involved rather than a homeless vagrant. Ianto, taking advantage of the distraction, was crouched low over the body of the latest victim, scanner in hand.

Gwen and Andy left them both to it and skirted around the police towards the motionless figure of a man perched on a rock at the base of the cliffs. A few steps away a female police constable, Andy's partner Amy, Gwen realised, was looking round uncomfortably, obviously unsettled by the whole affair.

“Poor girl, she's having a lousy first week,” Gwen whispered as they approached.

“Tell me about it! I'll be lucky if she doesn't put in for transfer as soon as we get back to the nick,” Andy groaned. “OK. The victim's name is Glen Marwood, resident of Cardiff. One of those posh new apartment blocks down by the Quay. The witness is Simon Christopher. He lives out Barry way. Apparently they meet three times a week here to go running. They do those challenge ultra-running things on a weekend. You know the type, 100 miles and half the height of Everest in hills. Anyway, they met up this morning as usual and ran down the coast for a couple of miles. They were on their way back when Mr Marwood met his end. Mr Christopher phoned us, I phoned you, and here we are.”

Gwen nodded thoughtfully, “Have you questioned Mr Christopher?”

“Only the basics. Name, residence, lead up to the events and so on. He was quite lucid for all of that. It was only when I asked him if he saw what killed Mr Marwood that he started talking nonsense.”

Gwen looked past Andy to Simon Christopher. The man appeared quite calm, only the constant drumming of his fingers on the top of his leg betraying his agitation. Every few seconds he would glance up, almost warily, before his eyes returned to the shingle at his feet. At first Gwen thought that he was darting looks at his friend, lying prone on the beach a few metres away. But as she watched, she realised that his eyes never went near the body. They were looking at the sky.

Motioning Andy to remain where he was, Gwen approached Simon. The loud crunching sound of her heels on the pebbles made him look up in surprise, his eyes wide and unfocused.

“Mr Christopher?” Gwen asked gently, squatting down beside him. “Simon? My name is Gwen Cooper. I'm from Torchwood, we're.... a special department of the police.” She looked up at Andy challenging him to contradict her. He merely replied with a wry smile. “I'd like to ask you a few questions about what happened here this morning. To Glen?”

Simon's eyes focused on her face but he said nothing. Gwen quickly assessed the man in front of her. Young, late twenties or early thirties at most. Physically fit with well-defined musculature. Single, or at least no sign of a wedding ring. Fairly well off. His trail shoes were a good brand, pricey, but not top-of-the-range. His love of Ultra-running was pronounced by his T-shirt, clearly well-worn, bearing the remnants of an axe-logo surrounded by the word Fellsman. His arms and legs were well-tanned, but in a way which spoke of outdoor exercise rather than visits to a tanning parlour. His lean, angular face showed evidence of a similar tan, but on his cheeks and forehead it seemed to be overwritten by the more vivid red of a recent sunburn.

“Simon?” Gwen prompted. “Can you tell me what happened to Glen? It might help us to catch whoever did this.”

Simon gave an unexpected snort of laughter and looked pointedly up at the sky.

“What happened? God happened. God killed him.” His snort of laughter gave way to a hysterical giggle. “God killed him with a ray of heavenly light. How do you catch a sunbeam, Gwen Cooper? Is it like a falling star? Can you just put it in your pocket?” The giggle turned into a sob, “It was my fault. I tempted him. I knew it was wrong. What we did was a sin. God punished me because I loved him.”

Gwen caught sight of a fine silver chain around Simon's neck disappearing beneath the neck of the T-shirt. It was a fair bet that at the end of the chain was a crucifix.

“You and Glen were more than just friends?” Gwen asked softly, standing up and putting an arm around Simon's now shaking frame.

Simon nodded but couldn't speak. Gwen felt a surge of anger in her gut.

“You didn't do anything wrong,” she whispered fiercely, her voice low so only he could hear. “The God I believe in wouldn't punish a man for loving someone, no matter who that someone was. What killed Glen wasn't God. It was something else. Something we can catch and punish. And I promise you I'm going to do that. But I'm going to need your help Simon. You said Glen was struck by a ray of light?”

Simon took a deep shuddering breath in an effort to compose himself and nodded. “Glen was a few yards ahead of me. He could always run faster than I could. One minute he was fine and then this burst of light seemed to envelop him. I shut my eyes but it didn't make any difference. All I could see was the light. I could feel the heat. Like I was standing too close to an open fire. You know? Then I heard Glen cry out...” Simon's voice trailed away and he broke down in quiet sobs once more. Gwen waited patiently beside him casting her eyes around, warily scanning the cliffs and jagged boulders at their base. There was nothing to say that whoever or whatever had killed Glen Marwood wasn't still here, waiting to strike again.

“There was nothing there,” Simon said finally, his voice broken and raw. “When I could see again, there was only Glen. That's when I knew it was God who sent the light.”

Gwen stood up and beckoned Ianto, standing a little way off, his examination of the body complete.

“Can you just do a quick scan of Simon here?” she asked quietly, not wishing to alarm the young man. “Particularly the sun-burn on his face.”

Instantly Ianto obliged, running first the Beckeran deep tissue scanner and then the radiation scanner over Simon's face. Distraught and still sobbing quietly, Simon never even raised his eyes.

“We'll go over the data in the car,” Gwen put in before Ianto could report on his findings. “Andy, can you get a full witness statement from Simon and send it to me?” She pulled Andy a few steps to one side and continued in a whisper, “I don't care how nutty it sounds, I want every word. And, take care of him. He's just lost his partner.” Impulsively she pulled Andy into a brief hug, planting a kiss on his cheek. “You're one of the best people I know, PC Andy Davidson. I'm sorry I was such a bitch.”

Andy pulled away awkwardly with a self-conscious smile. “Leave off, Gwen, there'll be talk,” he protested, although in truth Gwen did not think he looked exactly displeased at her actions. “I have my reputation to think of, and you a married woman and all.”

Gwen smiled cheekily. “Later, Andy!” she tossed over her shoulder as she followed Ianto back down the beach to where Jack stood waiting.

-o0o-

“So did the cute guy in shorts tell us anything useful,” Jack quipped as she stopped beside him.

Gwen caught a few strands of hair which had blown into her mouth and pushed them impatiently behind her ear before answering coldly, “The cute guy in shorts is called Simon Christopher. The dead body is his boyfriend, Glen Marwood. A little more respect would be nice, Jack.”

Jack had the grace to look ashamed. “Fair enough. Bad joke,” he replied by way of an apology. “So what did Mr Christopher tell us?”

“You aren't going to believe this,” Gwen began, earning raised eyebrows from both Jack and Ianto. “Alright, you might believe it but it's going to take some explaining. He says Glen was killed by a ray of light sent from God to punish him for being a homosexual.” The expressions of both men in front of her turned stony. “I told him that was bollocks. The God punishing him part, I mean.”

“Not in precisely those terms, I hope,” Jack asked evenly, earning himself a hard stare from Gwen.

“Not in exactly those terms, no,” she huffed.

“Ianto, what did you get from the scanners?” Without waiting for a reply, Jack turned and started to walk briskly back up the steep slope towards where the SUV was parked, clearly expecting Ianto and Gwen to follow him. After sharing an exasperated look, they set off after him, jogging to keep up with his long strides.

“Same deal as before,” Ianto panted, as he tried to keep pace with Jack. Perhaps the full suit and waistcoat had been a mistake, he thought, as he felt his forehead bead with sweat at the exertion. “Hypovolemic shock caused by massive internal tissue damage. Fewer growths though and the Rift energy signature seems weaker than with the last victim.”

“And from Mr Christopher? I saw Gwen ask you to take readings.”

“All I detected was a mild case of sunburn,” Ianto puffed, as he came to rest against the bonnet of the SUV. “No Rift energy, no internal tissue damage, just sunburn. I guess he forgot to slap on the sun cream this morning.”

With some irritation he noted that Jack, now leaning casually against the driver’s door, showed no evidence of the long pull up to the car from the beach. Maybe it was time to reinstate the Torchwood gym. The room formally known as the gym had, in recent years, become a dumping ground for half-a-dozen filing cabinets filled with obsolete paper files deemed safe enough to archive on computer instead. Ianto determined to clear a path to one of the running machines at least. He couldn't afford to let himself become fat and flabby, no matter how much Jack protested that he adored 'love handles'.

A second later Gwen collapsed against the SUV beside Ianto, drawing deep gasps of air into her lungs. Ianto offered her a sympathetic smile, rather pleased that she appeared to be in no better state than he was.

“I think whatever killed Glen gave Simon the sunburn,” she said finally, when she caught her breath.

“I agree.” Jack looked at his colleagues, watching their frantic efforts to recover from the run back to the car with amusement. “Far too much of a coincidence. I mean, rays of heavenly light? Sunburn? What are the odds?” He tried the door of the SUV, looking vaguely surprised when the door failed to open. With a grin Gwen tossed him the keys, which he caught one handed, deactivating the central locking with a flourish.

“Gwen Cooper, what would we do without you?”

“You'd be trying to explain to John Frobisher why one of Torchwood's highly customised, top-secret vehicles had been nicked and you were having to walk home from Lavernock Point,” Gwen said wickedly as she opened the rear door of the SUV and slid into the back seat.

Jack looked across at Ianto indignantly, but Ianto shook his head. “She does have a point.... sir,” he said solemnly, spoiling the effect with a sly wink.

“I get the feeling I'm being ganged up on,” Jack retorted, as he climbed in behind the steering wheel.

“You know you love it really.” Gwen's parting shot was almost lost in the roar as Jack gunned the engine and slammed it into reverse. Clearly the return drive was not destined to be as leisurely as the outward trip.

For a few seconds there was only the howl of the SUV's engines as they catapulted backwards up the lane. Seeing a gate opening in the side mirror, Jack pulled hard on the handbrake causing the SUV to spin crazily until it was facing in the right direction for them to proceed in a forwards gear. Gwen and Ianto exchanged a look, eyebrows raised. Clearly Jack was not happy, although whether it was a response to being ganged up on wasn't entirely clear to either of them. They jumped as Jack slammed his fist on steering wheel in frustration before shifting up a gear. The engine screamed in protest.

“I've had enough of this,” Jack snapped angrily. “Three dead bodies, radiation we can't detect, weird super-tumours, some kind of bloody death ray, and a guy who thinks God's punishing him for preferring one sex over the other. I'm telling you, this century is seriously screwed up. At least in my time we'd have had one less theory to deal with! We need some cold hard facts. Now. Whatever this is we don't have any reason to think it is going to stop killing any time soon.  And we still have nothing concrete to go on. Ianto, what time are we meeting that skin woman?”

“If you mean Professor Merchant I said we would be there at one. If anyone is going to be able to shed some light, excuse the pun, on this 'death ray' and the 'weird super-tumours' it'll be her.”

Jack pulled out onto the main road, barely pausing to check if the coast was clear of other traffic. The back end of the SUV slewed out as it turned, with a screech of brakes and a cloud of black rubber smoke billowing into the air from the abused tyres.

“Gwen, I'll drop you back off at the Hub.” Jack said, shouting to be heard over the roar of the engine's acceleration. “Ianto and I are going to pay a visit to Professor Merchant to see just exactly what she knows about sunbeams.”

-o0o-

On the beach Andy Davidson was leading Simon Christopher towards the path, his arm around the shaking man. Simon's eyes continually darted from the ground to the horizon, and from there to the sky, fear etched into his features, whilst Andy made shushing noises in an effort to calm him. Neither of them noticed the blinding white beam of light which struck out from the gun battery on the cliff top, lancing across the sky over the sea like a lighthouse warning light.


	7. Chapter 7

Professor Vivien Merchant's research office and laboratory was housed in the University's School of Biosciences, a curious four-storey v-shaped structure constructed of white concrete slabs and punctuated with regular three-pane windows, located next to the National Museum. Jack eased the SUV down Museum Avenue, lined on either side with parked cars and, seeing a space, slotted it neatly between a rather battered red mini and a lime-green transit van. There was barely enough room to open the doors wide enough to get out and Ianto was convinced he heard a worrying clang from the driver's side as Jack swung open the door with abandon. Jack, of course, wore an expression of determined innocence.

“They never make these damn things wide enough,” he complained as he performed a series of semi-acrobatic manoeuvres to free himself from the confines of the SUV. “They should take a lesson from the States. Big cars need big parking spaces.”

Ianto slammed his door and joined Jack on the pavement. He was debating whether or not to challenge Jack over his comment. Jack was no more an American than he was. Finally he settled for issuing Jack with a withering look and started digging in his trouser pocket for some loose change for the meter. Having located a couple of pound coins he turned to look for the pay-and-display machine to discover Jack striding briskly down the pavement towards the main entrance of the building.

“Ianto,” Jack called without turning. “Are you coming?”

With a resigned sigh Ianto ran after him. Obviously paying for parking was not something that even entered into the vague vicinity of Jack's consciousness. As for him, he always was possessed with a crushing sense of guilt if he was even five minutes overdue on a meter. With a sinking feeling, he spotted a traffic warden working his way up the street towards them, leaning over every car windscreen, checking for the obligatory ticket. Great, another parking violation he was going to have to make disappear. That would make twelve this month alone and they were barely half way through.

-o0o-

Jack stood in front of the wide smoky glass door expecting it to slide back and give him admittance. Instead it stayed firmly shut causing Jack to frown in consternation. With a smug smile Ianto reached past him and pushed the call button on the intercom. After a moment a softly spoken woman's voice filtered out of the perforated metal speaker plate, “Yes? Can I help you?”

“Good afternoon,” Ianto replied, leaning close to the grill. “Captain Jack Harkness and Ianto Jones to see Professor Merchant. She is expecting us.”

“One moment.” There was a short pause and then a buzz and clicking sound as the door slid back. Unexpectedly Ianto took the lead, pushing in front of Jack as he strode confidently through the door and up to the reception desk where a dark haired, smartly dressed woman in her forties, presumably the owner of the soft voice, looked him up and down with interest. As Ianto approached, she gave him a professional welcoming smile. Her eyes then moved past him to Jack, one of his most charming smiles plastered on his face. With amusement Ianto saw the 'flutter', a flash of pure lust that sparked in a woman's eyes when she first caught sight of Jack. The moment when, eyes glazing over as though they were beholding a god, every other man in the room, including Ianto, ceased to exist. He couldn't blame them; after all he'd been a victim of the 'flutter' himself. And he knew their reaction had a lot to do with Jack's 51st century pheromones. Jack couldn't help the effect he had on men and women alike, but recognising it, he frequently used it to his advantage. With an inward smile, Ianto stepped to one side to let Jack work his magic.

“Hello. Miss?” Jack said suavely.

“Graham.” The receptionist giggled like a teenager, then added regretfully, “Mrs... Valerie Graham.”

“How lovely to meet you, Valerie,” Jack gushed, leaning over the counter and taking her hand to kiss it like some Regency buck. Ianto rolled his eyes. Even for Jack this was laying it on a bit thick. As Jack straightened, he looked sideways and winked at Ianto, something which the flustered receptionist looking down red-faced at her keyboard, failed to notice.

Ianto fought down the urge to laugh. Of course. This display was all for his benefit. Payback for him and Gwen ganging up on Jack earlier. Ianto stored the moment away for later, when he had more time to show Jack exactly how he felt about Jack's blatant flirting. He was rather looking forward to it, he decided.

“Umm, Valerie? Professor Merchant's office?” Jack prompted, seeing the woman was still wearing the vacant, shell-shocked expression typical of someone recently exposed to a full Harkness charm offensive.

Valerie blinked rapidly, waking from her daydream: Captain Harkness, her, a pint of Ben and Jerry's, and a can of whipped cream. Blushing wildly she handed Jack and Ianto two card badges labelled 'Visitor' and pushed a heavy, hard-backed book towards Jack across the counter.

“I need you to sign in, Mr Jones, Captain Harkness,” she said hurriedly, passing Jack a biro.

“Please, call me Jack,” Jack said, turning the charm up another notch, if that was possible.

“Erm, I'll get Alwyn to escort you...Jack.” She waved across to a booth where a bored-looking security guard was engrossed in the sports pages of a local rag. “Alwyn! These gentlemen need to go to Professor Merchant's office.”

The guard clambered to his feet with a sour look and, leaving the paper on his chair, he took up station by the lift doors, pressing the call button.

Jack pushed the visitors book back across to Valerie, who looked at the signatures with interest.

“Torchwood?” she asked brightly. “I've never heard of a company called Torchwood. What do you do?”

“Ah Valerie, you wouldn't believe me if I told you,” Jack apologised with a regretful smile.

“And if he did tell you, I would have to kill you,” Ianto added matter-of-factly.

For an instant Valerie wasn't sure whether Mr Jones was joking or actually serious. No, he was joking, definitely joking. He had to be joking, didn't he? She gave a nervous laugh,

“Right...yes.”

Jack shot Valerie a final beaming smile, turned away, pinning his ID badge to his lapel, and went to stand by the lift. Ianto gave Valerie one of his most enigmatic half-smiles. The ones he saved for special occasions. The ones Jack said always made him look like he was up to no good; which was generally not far from the truth.

“I wasn't joking,” he deadpanned softly, watching her eyes widen in alarm. Then he tapped his nose twice, and turned to join Jack just in time to see the lift door open.

“That was cruel,” Jack pointed out as he stepped inside the lift.

“But fun,” Ianto replied with a wicked grin.

As the lift doors slid closed, Ianto caught a final glimpse of Mrs Valerie Graham, eyes fixed on the departing lift, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish won at the local fair.

-o0o-

With the security guard's imposing bulk taking up more than half of the cramped lift interior, Ianto stood, nose pressed practically against the metal door, his back firmly wedged against Jack's chest. Jack allowed his hand to drift upwards until his palm was flat against Ianto's backside, his fingers tapping out a gentle tattoo. He felt Ianto twitch and saw him shoot a nervous glance across to the security guard who, engrossed in cleaning the dirt from under his fingernails, was oblivious.

Jack angled his head so he could whisper into Ianto's ear.

“Jealous?” he asked softly, allowing his lips to brush Ianto's neck almost imperceptibly.

“You wish,” Ianto muttered, trying to ignore the shiver that the touch of Jack's lips sent skittering down his spine. “That display you put on for Mrs Graham was nothing short of outrageous.” He smiled. “Don't think I don't know what you were doing, Jack.”

“And what was I doing, Ianto Jones?” Jack murmured.

Ianto could feel, rather than see, Jack's lips curled against his neck in a devilish grin.

“I hardly think this is the time or place... Sir,” Ianto said regretfully.

Jack pouted. “Spoilsport,” he said. “We'll pick this up later. By the way, I was very turned on by the whole assertive bit. You're getting rather good at it.”

Before Ianto had chance to reply, even if he'd got a clue what to say, the lift doors opened. Ianto, with Jack at his back, practically fell out of doors into the white-walled corridor beyond. The security guard stepped forward and, turning to the left, started to waddle off down the corridor, his leather soled shoes squeaking on the grey, tile-effect linoleum. Jack gave a final tweak of Ianto's behind before setting off after the retreating security guard.

The corridor stretched away from them into the distance. The white painted walls were, for the most part, obscured by cork notice boards, laden with sheets of paper, newspaper clippings and the odd post-it note, rustling in the disturbed air as they passed. In between the notice boards, scientific posters lovingly prepared by eager researchers were tacked neatly to the walls, each one demonstrating some aspect of the work which went on in the surrounding rooms. Every fifteen feet or so a heavy wooden fire door decked with 'No admittance to unauthorised personnel' or radiation symbol stickers glowered at the entrance to a laboratory.

Half a dozen doors down the corridor the guard stopped outside a plain window-set door with only a brushed chrome nameplate and rapped smartly on the window panel. From inside a woman's voice, low and cultured, bid them enter. The security guard gave the two men a nod, the bored look never once leaving his face, and left them to open the door.

Lips twitching, Jack bowed, allowing Ianto to take the lead once more. With a small shake of the head at this latest example of Jack's childishness, Ianto pushed open the door and stepped into the office beyond. It was small, no more than four metres by three meters wide. One wall was completely obscured by a large floor-to-ceiling bookcase crammed to the gunwales with hefty medical tomes. In front of the window, affording a view onto the white wall of the National Museum, was a standard wood-veneered office desk bearing a laptop computer and a printer. On the third wall were a couple of filing cabinets. Seated in front of the desk, chair rotated to face them, was Professor Vivien Merchant.

She was a petite woman. Jack judged her to be in her late 40s, maybe early 50s. Though her skin was still relatively unblemished by age there were the startings of the tell-tale droop in the skin of her neck. Her elfin face was framed by short, dark chestnut hair, styled into a severe crop that on many women would have been unattractive but here merely served to highlight the professor's finely sculpted cheekbones. She'd clearly been to the hospital for a clinic that morning, as she wore a smart but comfortable business suit, somehow out of keeping with the ordered clutter of the office. Professor Merchant rose to her feet holding out her hand. Jack and Ianto loomed above her but she appeared totally unfazed.

“Mr Jones, Captain Harkness. I'm Vivien Merchant.”

Ianto proffered his hand and shook hers firmly. Releasing it, he moved to one side, allowing Jack to take her hand. There was no flirting here. No kiss. Just serious, business-like introductions.

“Professor Merchant. Thank you for agreeing to meet with us,” Jack said, allowing his face to break into a smile. The professor returned his smile, beckoning them to sit. Then, realising that there weren't enough chairs in the room, she tutted, crossed to the door and disappeared into the hallway. Jack and Ianto stood looking at each other, somewhat disconcerted by the empty office. After a moment, the professor returned, bearing two tall laboratory stools. She set them down and gestured for them to sit. Awkwardly Jack and Ianto perched on the stools, aware that even seated they still towered above the woman so that she had to tilt her head right back to look them in the face.

Seeing their uncomfortable expressions Vivien Merchant gave a tinkling and surprisingly girlish laugh. “Please excuse the lack of amenities. The University provides me with an office, but as you can see there isn't enough room to swing a cat, let alone entertain two gentlemen.”

Vivien Merchant looked with interest at the two gentlemen in front of her. When Mr Jones had rung the previous day asking for an appointment, he had mentioned that he and Captain Harkness worked for an organisation called Torchwood. After putting down the phone she had done a little digging on the Internet. There were rumours aplenty but little in the way of facts. All she had been able to glean was that Torchwood was some kind of top-secret government organisation. Curiously, although Mr Jones lived up to expectations, unassuming but clearly a spook, Captain Harkness was not at all what she had expected. Somehow, she’d pictured a severe military man. Whilst the man in front of her clearly wore the coat of an officer, it obviously dated back to a bygone era. She wondered whether the title Captain was in fact merely affectation or whether he truly held rank in the British armed forces. She’d also noticed that Captain Harkness had grasped her hand in a much more impersonal hold than that of his colleague, his eyes meeting the younger man's, looking for approval as he did so. That, coupled with the fact that, even allowing for the close confines of the office, they had stood unusually close to each other, invading each other’s area of personal space that every person had, told her clearly that Captain Harkness and Ianto Jones were evidently much more than mere work colleagues.

“So gentlemen, how can I help you?” she said finally. “Mr Jones here mentioned you needed my assistance with some deaths in the area.”

Jack pulled his PDA out of his pocket. Pressing half a dozen buttons until he'd brought up images from the Bekaran deep tissue scanner that were loaded on it, he passed the PDA to Vivien Merchant and gestured for her to look at them.

“We'd like your opinion of these, if we may,” he said seriously. “So far we've had three deaths, all bearing remarkable similarities. The first victim was a fifteen-year-old schoolgirl, the second a vagrant probably in his sixties. This morning's victim was a thirty-something fell-runner. We can't find any connection between them other than their injuries. ”

Professor Merchant leant back in her chair and, groping behind and to her left, retrieved a pair of spectacles from the surface of her desk, popping them onto the bridge of her nose. She looked intently at the small screen of the PDA, expertly using the touchscreen to manoeuvre around the images and to zoom in on particular features. Finally she looked up and pushed the glasses up onto the top her head, allowing her to focus on Jack as she handed back the PDA.

“You must have some pretty impressive technology to get images like those, Captain. I don't suppose you'd let me in on the secret? It looks like it would revolutionise diagnostic technique.” Her words were accompanied by a hopeful smile.

Jack shook his head, his own smile polite and regretful.

“'Fraid not. It's a one of a kind anyway...at least on this planet.”

The professor choked. “On this planet...?”Given the events of recent years, it was becoming harder and harder to deny the existence of other life forms in the universe. The Dalek invasion the previous year had pretty much clinched it as far as she was concerned. Even so, to hear the existence of other inhabited planets discussed so casually was still pretty shocking. “So, it's alien?” she stammered finally, hating the fact that she sounded like a starstruck teenager.

“Most definitely,” Ianto affirmed, with an understanding smile. Unlike Jack, Ianto could sympathise with the effect the sudden confirmation of the existence of extra-terrestrials had on the people of Earth. After all, in real terms, it had not been so very long ago that he had been in just the Professor's position. “Have you drawn any conclusions?” he added, trying to bring the professor back onto topic.

Vivien Merchant immediately sat forward, business-like once more.

“Well, without some histology to confirm, I can't give you a definitive diagnosis, but I would feel pretty confident in calling them cutaneous malignant melanomas. Very advanced ones. Malignant melanoma, whilst easily treatable if caught early, is incredibly difficult to treat once it has metastasised. It's refractive to most forms of treatment. With no other information to go on, I would say, given how large these growths are, these deaths were caused by complications arising from melanoma metastases.”

Jack nodded. “We had pretty much come to that conclusion ourselves.”

Professor Merchant now looked at him with vague annoyance.

“If you knew that, why have you come here and wasted my time asking for a second opinion?”

“Because twenty four hours before this picture was taken, this young woman had no melanomas on her face.” At this Professor Merchant looked up at Jack, irritation giving way to shock.

“But that's impossible!”

Jack gave a short laugh. “When you work for Torchwood you find that nothing is impossible. Can you give me any indication as to why they grew so fast?”

Professor Merchant shook her head. “No. Melanomas like this normally take a while to develop. I've seen them appear over a matter of weeks in extreme cases, but normally you are talking months or years. Growth this fast is unprecedented. I've never seen anything remotely like it.”

At this point Ianto interrupted.

“Forgive my ignorance, but what exactly are melanomas? I mean, I know they're a form of skin cancer...”

Vivien Merchant smiled at Ianto's eager politeness.

“That's right. Melanomas are basically a cancer of melanocytes, which are the cells in the skin that produce a browny-black pigment called melanin in response to sun exposure. Melanin is the substance which protects your DNA from sun damage.”

Jack changed the picture on the PDA and showed a second image to the professor.

“In addition to these growths, we also saw this damage. They appear to be extreme radiation burns. The only thing is, we haven't been able to detect a radiation source.”

The professor took a cursory glance at the picture.

“It is a radiation burn,” she confirmed. “I would say the closest I've seen to this are severe cases of sunburn. Or more accurately those cases of teenagers who fall asleep in those god-awful tanning machines. After all, that's all sunburn is: an ultraviolet radiation burn.”

Jack's eyes widened. “Of course,” he muttered under his breath, angry that he had missed something so obvious. They had been looking for a source of radiation and it had been under their noses all the time, or rather, over their heads, he thought wryly. “Professor Merchant? Can exposure to UV radiation give you a melanoma?”

The professor looked thoughtful and nodded slowly.

“Most of the evidence points that way, although it's not completely cut and dried. What we do know is that of the three forms of solar UV radiation A, B and C, the ozone layer absorbs nearly 99%. Of the 1% that makes it down as far as the surface the surface, 99% is UVA and 1% is UVB. No UVC makes it down this far. UVB is the kind of UV radiation which gives you sunburn and causes direct damage to your DNA by causing mutations. UVA won't give you sunburn but can still damage your DNA indirectly by generating chemicals which can mutate the DNA. Between them they are pretty good at creating the genetic environment to allow skin cancers, including melanomas, to develop.”

Ianto's brow furrowed in consternation, “But then why don't we all get skin cancers? We’re being bombarded with this stuff all the time, aren't we?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” Vivien Merchant replied enthusiastically. “Remember that melanin I mentioned? It's wonderful stuff. Its purpose is to absorb the UV radiation and then dissipate its energy as harmless heat, blocking the UV from damaging skin tissue. It's the production of melanin which gives us a sun tan.”

Jack flicked the screen on the PDA back to the image of one of the dark brown growths.

“And these?”

“These cancers have arisen in the cells that produce melanin. The brown colouring you see is the melanin. It looks as if the victims' skin has been swamped with so much UV radiation that their natural protective mechanism couldn't cope. The cells have basically gone berserk, replicating out of control. Hence the growths. I noticed that the first victim had significantly more tumours on her face than the second or third victim. She looked fair skinned. Can I ask if she was a red head?”

Jack looked confused, “Yes. Why?”

“Fair-skinned individuals, red heads in particular, have a genetic predisposition towards developing melanoma. They often carry a genetic variation in a gene which means they don't make much, if any, of the protective form of melanin. Your first victim had less natural protection than the others. Not only that, but your second victim probably had more natural protection because he had long term outdoor exposure. You mentioned he was a vagrant?”

Ianto nodded. “He lived outdoors most of the year. I performed the autopsy. His skin was like leather.”

Professor Merchant looked surprised at the information that the unassuming man in front of her had performed such a complex medical procedure but she merely nodded. “That fits with the biology. There is evidence that people with outdoor professions such as farmers and builders actually have lower susceptibility to melanoma than you would expect. We don't understand it fully, but we believe repeat low to moderate exposure allows you to build up an immunity. It's those short, sharp two weeks on the Costa del Sol or six minutes high intensity twice a week at the tanning parlour which give you the highest risk.”

“So, what we have here is a sudden high intensity burst of UV radiation, probably UVB, which causes massive radiation burns and the internal tissue damage we found,” Jack theorised. “It also causes massive amounts of DNA damage, allowing melanoma or melanoma-like tumours to grow.”

“That would be my guess, yes,” Professor Merchant concurred. “But I can't explain the speed of growth. A burst of UV wouldn't explain that.”

Jack caught Ianto's eyes. He gave an imperceptible nod. Jack had a very good idea what was causing the rapid growth and clearly Ianto was on the same wavelength. Rift energy. Jack slid off the stool and stood up; Ianto joining him a second later.

“Thank you for your help, Professor,” Jack said, smiling. “It's been very useful.”

“Are you going to tell me what this is really about?” the Professor asked curiously.

“I could tell you,” Ianto deadpanned, “but then I'd have to kill you.” Then he winked for effect.

“OK, point taken,” the professor laughed, then she grew serious once more. “But I hope you find whatever is doing this, gentleman.” She paused and Ianto saw a tiny shiver shake her petite frame. “There is one thing I can tell you, though. Fast or not, this would be a bloody painful way to die. ”

-o0o-

They exchanged a few more pleasantries and farewells before Jack opened the door to leave. He stood back allowing Ianto to step through into the hallway first. With a final smile and wave at the Professor, Jack stepped though after him.

A searing white light flashed from the right, blinding Jack. He stumbled against the door frame, drawing his hand up to his eyes to try and block some of the intense light. Through his closed eyelids he could see the flare, as blazing and undimmed as if his eyelids had already been burned away. Somewhere ahead of him he heard Ianto cry out, a shrill scream of pain, cut short, leaving nothing but the sounds of his own ragged breaths roaring in his ears, amplified as though he was encased in a diving suit at the bottom of the ocean. Terrified, he opened his mouth to call out but the light, now scalding hot, burned away his vocal chords with the first breath, leaving him dumb and coughing. Jack could feel the skin on his face and hands blister in the heat, carrying the sickening smell of cooked flesh to his nostrils. With horror he realised that it was his own flesh he could smell burning. He sagged back against the door frame, his legs unable to bear his weight.

In that instant, the flare vanished, leaving only a greenish negative starburst image imprinted on his retina. The roaring sound of his breath in his ears faded away, leaving the corridor in eerie silence. With herculean effort, Jack forced open his eyes. The corridor, blank featureless walls picked out in the same negative colour palette, appeared undamaged. Glancing instinctively up and down the corridor, he saw no sign of the source of the light. Just as he knew he wouldn't. His gaze continued its journey, sliding down to the floor. A wave of blinding panic overwhelmed him. Terrified, he slid down the door frame, knees collapsing under him like paper straws. He fell forward, his arms buckling as he tried to support himself, leaving him face down on the cool marble tiles. Jack moaned in pain as all the damaged nerve endings on his cheeks and forehead screamed in protest at the contact. In agony Jack forced his head up, focusing on his goal and, extending one arm, he dragged himself slowly across the floor towards the unmoving shape of Ianto, huddled face down on the tiles. It seemed to take an eternity, each inch taking every ounce of Jack's strength to cover. His damaged hands left a trail of bloody handprints, testament to his progress. Finally he felt the soft fabric of Ianto's suit under his fingertips. With a final pull he came to rest by Ianto's shoulder and, gasping for breath, pushed himself up until he was resting on his knees. Still unmoving, Ianto had his back to him. Stinging tears coursing down his cheeks, Jack rested his hand on Ianto's shoulder. With shaking fingers, he pulled Ianto towards him. He knew what he would find but until he saw the proof with what was left of his own eyes he wouldn't believe it. Ianto tipped back against Jack's legs, the young man's face staring at the ceiling. But the face Jack saw could have been anyone. It was unrecognisable. The once smooth skin was now blackened and cracked, interspersed with large, ugly, white fluid-filled blisters. Ianto's expressive slate blue eyes, last glimpsed filled with love and laughter, stared at him unseeing, now only milky white orbs surrounded by charred flesh. At his throat, the purple tie, fastened in a neat Windsor knot, had melted against his skin, as though it were now somehow part of him.

As Jack stared in horror at what was left of his lover, he heard a noise, the raw, high-pitched keening of an animal in pain. He looked around frantically, trying to locate the source of the noise, but the corridor was deserted. Then he realised the sound was coming from his own seared throat. In that instant, Jack knew that the cloying stench of burning flesh filling his nostrils came not from him but from Ianto, and he screamed.


	8. Chapter 8

“Jack?” There was a short pause, then, “Cariad?” The voice was low, hoarse and frantic, begging for a response. To Jack it seemed to be coming from a long way away.

“Please, Jack. Say something! Please.”

“Captain Harkness?” A second voice, louder, cultured and most definitely female, also filled with concern, but this time more professional in tone.

The first voice in his ears again filled with undisguised fear, “Jack, please. What the hell's the matter with you?”

Unbelievably Jack recognised it as Ianto's voice. But that was impossible. Ianto was dead.

Jack cautiously lowered his hands, only now realising that he had been holding them defensively in front of his face. He opened his eyes hesitantly and blinked, unwilling to once again face the image of Ianto's body that was still imprinted on his retina, proving what he already knew. That he was only imagining Ianto's beloved voice. A bittersweet dream which would inevitably end. Incredibly Ianto's perfect, undamaged face swam into focus, pale and full of concern, but very much alive. Ianto's bottom lip was trapped between his teeth, stained red from drawn blood. At the sight, Jack shivered, the memory of what he had seen, only moments before, washing over him. His breath caught in his chest. Tentatively he stretched one hand towards the mirage. The mirage reached out. Warm, dry hands tightened around his own. They trembled slightly. Jack stared uncomprehendingly at the clasped hands for a moment then raised his eyes to meet Ianto's frightened stare. A mirage he could see and touch, a truly cruel trick of his senses.

“Captain Harkness!” the female voice repeated, this time a good deal more stridently. “Do you know where you are?”

Startled, Jack blinked. Other details came flooding in. He was sat on the floor, he realised, his back hard against the wall of the corridor, the cold of the plaster bleeding through the material of his shirt at the base of his back. The tails of his coat were swathed across the floor on either side of him, the heavy cloth bunched up against his shoulders pushed up by his slide down the wall. Somewhere above him a fluorescent tube flickered spasmodically. In the distance he could hear the low whirr of lab equipment, air conditioning units, and the very distant strains of Radio 2. He glanced down at his own body and hand. No burning, no blistering skin. He was alive. And most wonderful of all the mirage was still there. Ianto was kneeling in front of him, his face level with Jack's. Eyes still trained firmly on Ianto's face, scared that if he lost sight of him Ianto would vanish, Jack became aware of a figure crouched next to him. Tilting his head very slightly he saw, from the corner of his eye, Vivien Merchant staring intently at him, her face set in a worried frown. She took his free wrist and held it, checking his pulse. Jack coughed and tried to pull his hand free, only to find Professor Merchant had a surprisingly strong grip for such a slight build.

“Umm, I'm all right.” Jack was relieved to find his voice still worked, even sounding relatively normal.

“Bollocks,” Ianto said softly, his voice wavering. “You followed me out of the door and dropped like a stone.” Uncaring of the professor's presence, he leaned forward and kissed Jack on the mouth in search of reassurance. Jack's hands immediately reached up, sought Ianto's trembling frame, and pulled him into a crushing, desperate embrace. Jack felt tears smarting behind his eyes. He blinked them away furiously, burying his face into Ianto's shoulder, but couldn't suppress a single muffled sob. At the sound Ianto gripped him more tightly

“You scared the crap out of me,” Ianto murmured against his hair, in a voice still laced with fear. “What the hell happened?”

“You don't want to know,” Jack said bleakly, his voice muffled against Ianto's suit jacket.

“Yes, I do. No secrets, remember, cariad?” Ianto protested gently.

“Captain Harkness?” Professor Merchant cut in briskly, making them both jump. Neither Jack or Ianto had remembered she was there. They pulled apart reluctantly, Ianto sitting back on his heels, his hand seeking Jack's once more. “I really think you should go to A and E to get checked out. You were unconscious for over a minute and your pulse is racing.”

Dear God, Jack thought, had it really been only a minute? For him the terror had lasted an eternity. He drew a ragged breath, swallowing the irrational irritation he suddenly felt at the professor.

“I'm fine,” he ground out, almost growling. “I didn't have breakfast. It'll just be low blood sugar.”

Still held in Jack’s tight embrace, Ianto's look of utter incredulity was totally missed by the professor, but he got the message. Whatever had happened in those few minutes, Jack didn't plan on disclosing it here in the presence of outsiders. Suddenly Ianto couldn't wait to leave. To flee to the relative safety and privacy of the SUV. To insist Jack tell him the truth. With a start he pulled away from Jack, who resisted the movement briefly before finally releasing him.

“I'll make sure he gets checked out when we get back to base,” Ianto promised the professor, fearing he was speaking so fast he was on the verge of babbling. “I'm sure it's just like the Captain said, low blood sugar.” Ianto knew he wasn't being the least bit convincing. Professor Merchant was a trained doctor after all, even if she now specialised in dermatology, she would still be able to spot a blood sugar 'hypo’ at twenty paces. Not to mention that the reunion he and Jack had just shared was more suitable to a death-row reprieve than a minor medical upset. The tight smile he received in reply confirmed his belief, but she didn't say anything, merely getting to her feet and disappearing inside her office. She reappeared after a few moments, holding out something to Jack. A Mars bar.

To maintain the pretence, Jack took it with apparent gratefulness. In truth, just the thought of eating at the moment made him want to throw up. The memories of his vision were too fresh in his mind. It had been many years since he'd had an episode like this: a vision so convincing that it shook his faith in reality. To him it seemed just another facet of his gift, that occasional ability to see future events.

The professor stood watching him expectantly, her eyes fixed on the Mars bar still clutched in his hand. Reluctantly Jack tore open the wrapper and forced himself to take a bite, the sweet chocolate and caramel filling his mouth, making him gag. Rapidly he swallowed the half chewed chocolate bar and forced a smile on his face.

“That's better, thanks,” he managed. “We should go. Ianto?” Jack looked round and grabbed the hand Ianto was offering. With a grunt he pulled himself upright, stumbling slightly as he found his legs as weak as they had felt in his vision. Instantly Ianto wrapped an arm around the older man, allowing him to lean against him.

“Goodbye, professor. Thank you for your help,” Ianto said politely, offering his free hand to shake the professor's.

“Take care, Mr Jones, Captain. Good luck with your search,” she replied. With a flicker of a smile, she disappeared back inside her office.

Finally alone, Ianto brought his attention back to Jack, worry returning to his face.

“Can you walk?” he asked solicitously, noting Jack still leaning heavily against him.

“I'm fine!” Jack snapped, immediately pulling away from Ianto until he was standing unaided, grateful that his legs didn't give the lie to his words. He saw a momentary flash of hurt cross Ianto's features before he schooled them back to their customary calm mask. At the sight, Jack pulled Ianto close. “I'm sorry,” he apologised softly.

“It doesn't matter,” Ianto replied with a dismissive shake of his head, eyes downcast.

Jack raised a hand to catch Ianto's cheek, forcing the other man to meet his eyes.

“Yes, it does. I'm not used to being weak. I certainly don't like to be seen to be weak...especially by someone I care about. But that’s no excuse. So, like I said, I'm sorry.” His face creased into an embarrassed smile.

After a second Ianto returned it. “Apology accepted, cariad.” He leaned forward to place a light kiss on Jack's lips. “Idiot,” he said fondly. “Come on, let's get back to the Hub.”

“Can I lean on you a little?” Jack asked casually.

Ianto could see the fatigue behind his eyes. Contrary to his protestations, whatever had happened had shaken Jack up more than he cared to admit.

“Lean all you like,” he replied, offering his shoulder. The heat of Jack's hand almost burnt through the fabric of his suit jacket. The pressure was light and Ianto knew that it was more for reassurance than actual support.

-o0o-

Jack waved aside Ianto’s offer to drive. As he climbed into the passenger seat of the SUV, Ianto asked, “Are you going to tell me what really happened?”

Jack remained silent as he closed the door and pulled the seatbelt across his chest, securing it. He reached forward to insert the key into the ignition and for a moment it looked as though he would start the engine and drive away, evading Ianto’s question. Then with a weary sigh he leaned back in his seat, leaving the key fob dangling. When he looked up, his expression was stony. “I had a vision.”

Ianto coughed in surprise. “A what?” He saw Jack grimace at his incredulous tone and said contritely, “I'm sorry. It's just...well...visions? Isn't that a bit 'new age' for you? I didn't think you believed in all that?”

“I don't,” Jack said, “but I don't know how else to describe them. Future flashes? Premonitions?” He shrugged helplessly. “All I know is that I've had them twice before and both times what I saw came true.”

“You've never mentioned them before.” Ianto felt unaccountably put-out at the knowledge that, once again, there was something else he didn't know about Jack. He wondered, a trifle jealously, if Gwen knew.

There was a long, uncomfortable silence. Truthfully Jack really didn't know what to say. He had always shied away from even thinking about his occasional ability to see the future. To actually put what he had seen and what it meant into words, especially to Ianto, was frankly terrifying. Jack studied Ianto. Though giving every appearance of waiting calmly and patiently, the other man was too pale, his mouth set in a thin, anxious line, his eyes still and apprehensive.

How different to the Ianto of that morning, laying relaxed in his arms, wearing a secretive half-smile that spoke of pleasures remembered. Had that only been a few hours ago? There in the safety of the Hub they had confessed their fears and it had all seemed so easy. Jack glanced quickly across at Ianto again. Maybe it really was that simple. He loved Ianto. He wanted to be with him for as long as Ianto would have him. If he kept the truth of this from Ianto, Ianto wouldn't leave him. He was convinced of that. But the look of utter trust in Ianto's eyes that morning would vanish from their slate-blue depths, never to return. Jack couldn't live with that.

“I've never told anyone about them,” he admitted. “The first one happened a few years after I landed on Earth, after my resurrection on the Gamestation. I didn't think anything of it. I honestly thought it was the drink.” Jack met Ianto's eyes with a wry smile. “I was drunk quite a lot of the time back then.”

He saw Ianto's face relax into a genuine smile at his comment. The younger man remained silent though, not wishing to interrupt Jack's confession.

“But then it came true. Do you want to know the specifics?”

Before answering, Ianto searched Jack's expression. Although it was honest, there was the shadow of buried pain behind the candid blue eyes. Ianto wasn't sure he wanted to be the one to bring that pain bubbling to the surface. Clearly, from Jack's earlier reaction, it was going to be hard enough for him to admit what he had seen that day. Ianto shook his head. “Not if you don't want to,” he said softly, and was rewarded by the answering glance of grateful relief.

“Sufficient to say, in the vision I saw someone I loved die. A few days later, they died for real. Not exactly as I saw in the vision, the details were different in places, but the outcome was the same.” Jack grimaced. “I just dismissed it as a coincidence, a fluke brought on by alcohol. The manner of death wasn't uncommon for the era I lived in then. But then it happened again. The same deal. Someone I loved in peril, dying a horrible death. That time, though, I tried to prevent it. Change the outcome. I failed. They died.”

Jack fell silent as he remembered. The first vision, his son taken from him in agony, wracked with polio. The second vision, concerning the man before him, long before he admitted the depth of his feelings, whilst chained on the Valiant during the year that never was. The Master torturing and finally executing the young man, all the time taunting Jack and hoping for him to break. When that vision had come to pass, he’d turned his back on the captured Ianto Jones. He’d feigned indifference to his fate. He’d flayed him with words of cruelty and hate. All in the hope that the Master would lose interest and let Ianto go.

Jack hadn't reckoned on Ianto's stubborn trust and devotion to him. The Master had gleefully played on Ianto's regard, and every detail of his vision, every cry of Ianto's pain and suffering, had echoed in his eyes and ears. This time the only change of detail was that, instead of the Master ending Ianto's life, it had been Jack, driven beyond endurance, who had taken his own Webley revolver from the Master's hands and put a bullet through Ianto's brain to end his anguish.

That time he had been given a reprieve by the Doctor and especially Martha, but now the nightmare had returned.

“And today?” Ianto prompted finally, dreading Jack's reply. “What did you see today, Jack?”

Jack swallowed and looked hard at Ianto, his eyes desolate. “You. Dead on the floor. Burnt alive.”

Ianto blanched but forced himself to keep his voice calm and level as he asked,

“What kills me?”

“The light,” Jack said simply.

“Where?” The question was abrupt, Ianto's voice now laced with suppressed fear.

“I'm not sure. In the vision, you were in a corridor, like the one outside the professor's office, but the details were all wrong. The walls and the floor. Given how previous visions have played out, I think the details of location may not be so important, but the manner of death, the outcome in each case, has been pretty explicit. But honestly it's all just speculation.” Jack's voice fell away, waiting for the young man to comment, but Ianto remained silent. The sounds of the people and cars on the street outside seemed to swell, filling the silence of the SUV.

Jack’s voice, earnest and loud, shattered the silence. “I'll find a way, Ianto. I'm not about to lose you to this thing.”

Ianto gave him a wan smile. He'd been so eager to know what Jack had witnessed back in the corridor. Now he wished he could wipe the knowledge from his mind. “That's good to know, cariad, but we don't even know what we are dealing with.”

At this Jack broke into a genuine grin. “That's not strictly true. Speaking to the professor gave me an idea. It's pretty flimsy, but it fits with what we already know.”

“Flimsy sounds pretty good right now,” Ianto commented, his voice still brittle with fear.

“We'll get back to the Hub and I'll fill you and Gwen in. Then you can judge how crap you think the theory is.” As he spoke Jack leaned across to capture Ianto's mouth in a gentle kiss in an effort to soothe his fears. After a moment’s hesitation, Ianto returned the kiss, allowing Jack's tongue access, letting the tension drain from his tense shoulders and knotted stomach.

Feeling Ianto relax, Jack deepened the kiss, raising his hand to briefly caress Ianto's cheek before entwining his long fingers in the young man's short brown hair. He needed Ianto to believe what he had said. He would find a way to prevent the events of his vision from happening. He had to. He needed more time. More time to hold the young man in his arms, prove the love he felt for him, in actions if not in words. More time to understand and answer Ianto's needs and desires. As Jack felt Ianto respond to the kiss with increasing urgency, his hands frantically trying to burrow beneath the fabric of Jack's coat and shirt, desperate for the touch of skin, he knew with total certainty that there would never be enough time. Death would find them eventually.

Its insidious stench was all pervasive. Deaths he'd caused, deaths he could have prevented but didn't, deaths he'd wanted to prevent and couldn't. He had known that death was always present, never far from sight, like a vulture hovering just over the horizon waiting to feed on the people Jack embraced as part of his life. The ultimate punishment for Jack's ultimate sin, cheating death of his prize on the Gamestation. No matter that it had not been Jack's choice to return. Death needed recompense for Jack's arrogant dismissal of the laws of the Universe. And now the spectre felt so close, ready to rip Ianto from his arms if he dropped his guard for even a second. And hadn't he dropped his guard now, immersed in the sensations Ianto was kindling with his tongue and hands? If death came for Ianto now could he honestly protect him from it? Would wrapping his arms around his lover be enough? Or would it merely ensure that he held Ianto in his arms as he died? Jack knew he should draw back, draw his gun, draw a line in the sand and challenge death face to face, with Ianto safely far away. But all he wanted to do was stay right where he was, locked in Ianto's arms.

-o0o-

Minutes later Jack drew reluctantly away, panting slightly, pleased to see Ianto's face now flushed with barely suppressed passion, eyes closed, his dark lashes heavy on his cheeks.

“Hey,” Jack murmured.

“Jack,” Ianto groaned as his lashes rose slowly to reveal dark smoky blue eyes. “That's one way to seal a promise.” Ianto ran a thumb across his bruised lips. “You'll have to promise me things more often.”

“I promise,” Jack said obligingly as he pulled Ianto back for a further kiss.


	9. Chapter 9

What with one promise and another, and a hurried but immensely satisfying detour to Ianto's flat, it took well over an hour before the SUV pulled up in the underground car park by the Hub entrance. Gwen, busily transcribing Andy Davidson's account of what Simon Christopher had witnessed at Lavernock Point that morning at her workstation, was confronted by the unexpected sight of Jack and Ianto holding hands as they strolled through the rolling door into the Hub. With the exception of her unintentional and highly entertaining eavesdrop on the pair outside the bunker that morning, she had not seen such a display of out-and-out couple-iness from them.

“You've been gone awhile,” she said innocently leaning back on her chair and giving the pair a long appraising look. She sincerely doubted the interview with Professor Merchant had taken over two and a half hours. Her suspicions were confirmed as Ianto flushed guiltily. Clearly there had been considerably more than the professor on the agenda that afternoon. Honestly, she thought with amusement, they were like a couple of sex-mad teenagers unable to keep their hands off each other. Well, Jack she could understand: he frequently displayed the emotional maturity of a pubescent 15-year-old. But Ianto? Obviously Jack had been able to crack that iron-clad emotional barrier the younger man kept so tightly wrapped around him. Even though he had looked embarrassed at Gwen's comment and frank appraisal, he hadn't pulled his hand from Jack's, she noticed. Only a few days ago they would have sprung apart to inhabit opposite ends of the Hub; now it appeared they were comfortable to be seen as a couple.

“So did you find out anything?” Gwen continued, maintaining her expression of wide-eyed innocence.

“Ianto likes promises,” Jack replied with a smirk, swinging their linked arms like a child in kindergarten.

“So does Jack,” Ianto interjected, sticking an equally childish tongue out at his partner.

“I meant anything useful?” Gwen sighed, rubbing her temples wearily. One day she would get someone to explain why she could take on Nostrovites, Daleks and zombies without breaking stride and yet two minutes of Jack and Ianto in 'happy-clappy-look-at-me-I'm-cute' mode could start a headache which was even now attempting to fry her brain.

“We're dealing with something that uses UV radiation to attack.” Jack finished, ignoring Ianto's gesture and trying to look serious.

“UV?” Gwen queried incredulously. “You mean sunlight?”

Jack nodded. “We'll fill you in. Boardroom?”

Gwen grabbed the notebook containing Andy's notes from the workstation and hurriedly followed Jack and Ianto, their hands still tightly clasped, arms swinging, up the stairs to the boardroom. It looked like it was going to be one of those meetings.

Inside Jack released Ianto's hand and threw himself into his usual chair, Ianto taking a chair to his immediate right and Gwen to his left.

“Ianto, can you fill Gwen in on what Vivien said?”

Ianto gave him a long sideways look.

“Why me? I thought you'd want to do it.”

“It'll sound better coming from you,” Jack said blithely, “more professional.”

“You weren't listening, were you?” Ianto accused him flatly, feigning exasperation. It was a ruse, of course. In truth, Jack had told Ianto in the SUV between promises that his memory of events immediately preceding the vision was uncharacteristically fuzzy. The main points of their conversation with Professor Merchant were there, but the detail had been lost. Jack's loss of memory and his vision were things Jack and Ianto intended to keep to themselves, at least for now.

“Not really,” Jack admitted with an apologetic smile. “She did have fabulous legs.”

Gwen tutted, indignant on Ianto's behalf.

Ianto merely gave a resigned shrug.

“It's Jack. Letching comes as part of the territory.”

Jack pulled a face, smiling inwardly at the way they had managed to divert attention from his uncharacteristic reticence to take the lead.

Deliberately ignoring Jack's further display of childishness, Ianto succinctly summarised their conversation with Professor Merchant, Jack throwing in occasional comments as snatches of conversation coalesced in his mind.

Finally Gwen leant back in her chair with a combination of bemusement and concern on her face. “So basically we're dealing with a UV death ray?”

“Basically,” Jack agreed.

“Well, that's new. Are we talking an alien weapon in the hands of a Penarth nutter?” she asked, dragging a hand through her dark hair.

“I don't think so,” Jack said, shaking his head. “I think if it was someone with a specific axe to grind we would have connections between the choice of victims. On the other hand, if we're talking about someone on a general killing spree, we'd have a lot more bodies closer together. Either way we'd have witnesses.”

Gwen looked down at the transcript of Andy's interview with Simon Christopher and scanned through it quickly.

“There’s nothing here about there being another person on the beach this morning, although we can't rule out that Glen was attacked from a cliff top location Simon couldn't see. But it would be difficult to explain the residual sunburn on his face. From the position of Glen's body, if Simon had been behind him as he says, the angles would be all wrong.”

“I agree with Gwen,” Ianto said. “The patterns of sunburn on Simon's face were consistent with him being behind Glen. One side of his face was more protected, as if it were in shadow. And it was the seaward side of his face that was affected. If the blast had come from the cliff, it would make more sense for the damage to be on the other side. Well, unless we have a death ray that can shoot round corners...”

Jack looked from Ianto to Gwen and back again with a wide smile. His team was good. Even depleted as they were they still worked like a well-oiled machine.

“So we all agree: not a weapon in the hands of a local. That leaves either a weapon in the hands of something with stealth capabilities that came through the Rift or something else entirely. Personally, I think we're dealing with something else entirely.”

“Why?” The question came from both sides simultaneously.

“The low body count and the disparate relatively remote locations. It's almost as if the deaths are accidental, like they were a by-product of something else.” He shrugged before continuing. “It's just a gut feeling.”

Gwen and Ianto exchanged a look. Over the last couple of years they had both learned the hard way to trust Jack's gut instincts. But given all the things they had witnessed, the 'something else entirely' theory was even more terrifying than the 'alien with a gun’ variety. Where did they start?

Gwen asked the question she and Ianto were both thinking. “So do you have any idea what we are dealing with?”

“I have an idea,” Jack admitted, “but it's a bit...”

“Flimsy?” supplied Ianto with a deadpan expression.

“Flimsy,” agreed Jack, trying not to smirk.

It was clear to Gwen that she was missing something. Some in-joke she was not privy to. Was this how it was going to be now? Jack and Ianto exchanging secret smiles and loaded glances while she stood on the side-lines playing gooseberry? Suddenly she felt very lonely. Never had she missed Owen's cutting comments and Tosh's self-effacing professionalism more. Her friends, she realised, not just her colleagues, the only friends with whom she could share this crazy world. Friends she had taken for granted and lost. A violent rush of intense grief swept unexpectedly over her, akin to the grief she had felt the first day. Hot, salty tears welled and she blinked frantically trying to clear them, unable to stop one or two cascading down her cheeks. She swallowed hard to prevent the choking sob that had risen in her throat, her jaw aching from the effort. Gwen's hands began to tremble and she pushed them down in her lap out of sight digging her long fingernails into the denim of her jeans, willing herself not to lose it now.

Hearing Gwen's audible gulp, Jack swung round to face her. He saw her glistening cheeks and shaking shoulders, and, for a single moment, he thought she was laughing. But pale set line of her mouth, hazel eyes dark with unshed tears, and the tell-tale smudge of mascara told a different story, and his levity vanished. What the hell had he said? He darted a concerned look at Ianto, questioning whether he should draw attention to her distress by asking her what the matter was, but Ianto gave an imperceptible shake of his head. Jack understood. Like Ianto, Gwen did not like to display her weakness in front of others. If she needed to talk, she would come to him in her own time. Still, it was a harsh reminder that in some respects his team was fragile, each member needing care and attention. Even him.

At Jack’s low cough, signalling that they should get back to the matter in hand, Gwen shuffled in her seat, sitting forward, using the palms of her hands to remove tell-tale tear tracks from her cheeks. She leant her elbows on the table, resting her chin on one hand, fingers clenched into a fist, her fingernails dug deep into the palm

“So what's your flimsy theory?” she asked, only the slightest tremor betraying her distress. She was back in control. At least for now.

“OK, bear with me,” Jack began, also sitting forward. Immediately Ianto mirrored his pose so that all three heads were now bowed conspiratorially together.

“Once, a very long time ago, before I hooked up with Rose and the Doctor, when I was still a Time Agent, I was nabbed in the Mericaesium cluster," Jack recounted.

Ianto looked at him, raising his eyebrows.

"That sounds painful, sir," he said gravely, though the corners of his mouth twitched, rather ruining the sombre effect. He had noted, with no small satisfaction, that the Doctor now seemed to be almost incidental in Jack's thoughts. Ianto had always considered himself above petty jealousies but Jack's devotion to the Doctor had caused him to reassess. He had finally conceded that where Jack was concerned he was just as susceptible to the green-eyed monster as the next man.

“Absolutely,” Jack affirmed with a mischievous grin. “Six months in solitary with only a Weebox for company.”

“Weebox?” Gwen butted in, now thoroughly intrigued. Ianto noticed her release her fist and rest her cheek in her palm, her little finger absently rubbing the corner of her eye smudging her mascara. Whatever had affected her so violently before had passed. Even so, her eyes were immeasurably sad.

“A kind of rodent, sort of like a furry snake.” Jack explained, reclaiming Ianto's attention. “Quite affectionate if you can tame one, but they have one hell of a bite. And of course they can strangle you while you sleep.”

“Sounds lovely,” Gwen said sarcastically giving an exaggerated shudder.

“Hey, don't knock the pleasures of a Weebox!” Jack protested. “Like I said, they can be very affectionate.”

His emphasis on the 'very' made Gwen wrinkle her nose in distaste and Ianto shake his head in disbelief.

“You are disgusting!” exclaimed Gwen, leaning back in her chair in an attempt to distance herself from the grinning Captain.

“So? What else is new?” Jack shrugged. “Anyway, as I was saying...”

“What were you imprisoned for?” interrupted Ianto. “Something nefarious?” Jack rarely spoke of his time with the Time Agency and evaded Ianto's occasional questions on the subject with practised ease. The chance to get a glimpse of the events in the early life of Jack Harkness which had brought Jack to where and, more importantly, made him who he was now, was an opportunity Ianto was not about to pass up.

“Back then? Yeah, pretty nefarious. It was a con. I forget the exact details but it involved Phesian diamonds, a couple of dancing girls and several bottles of incredibly rare Gallifreyan wine,” Jack lied smoothly.

The real truth was that it had been a hit. An ageing, well-respected diplomat who had spoken out about the questionable activities of the Time Agency and had thus been deemed 'dangerous' by Jack's superiors. The assignment had been the catalyst for Jack's increasing disaffection with his chosen career and the corruption of the Agency. It had been the last assignment he could remember prior to his two years of stolen memories.

The hit, carefully planned and executed, had been successful, but someone had betrayed the location of the safe house, where he had been lying low until the dust had settled, to the authorities. He had been captured and sentenced to life imprisonment in a matter of hours. And Jack had accepted his fate, deemed it just punishment for all the terrible acts he had committed under orders. But just six months into his sentence, he had been released, with no word, no explanation, just an open door and the return of his gun. A day later a Time Agent had shown up to escort Jack back to headquarters. It was the last thing he remembered for the next two years of his life. All in all, it was a shameful period of his history he wasn't ready to share yet, with anyone, including Ianto.

Ianto, catching the guarded look flickering across Jack's face as he spoke, sensed there was more to the story than Jack was letting on. One day he hoped Jack would be able to share the whole truth with him, but it clearly wasn't going to be now.

“We should have guessed,” he said lightly, forcing a smile.

“Anyway, back to the Mericaesium cluster,” Jack began, his expression relaxing as he realised, with relief, that Ianto wasn't going to call him out on what Ianto clearly knew was a blatant lie. “It's a small cluster of planets, oh God, light years from here. They orbit an old star, a very rare dark star, which emits very little solar radiation. The planets in the system have very low levels of light, perpetual twilight, and only the innermost planet is capable of sustaining life. What the cluster does have is a shit-load of minerals. By the early days of the 51st century, the system had been colonised by a number of different species, each out for what they could get. Mericaesium I, the innermost planet, was colonised by the Zimbari, a human-like species. They got a bit more than they bargained for, though. There was an indigenous species. But they only found it by accident.”

“Why?” Ianto asked. “Were they microbial or something?”

Glancing affectionately at Gwen and Ianto's rapt expressions, reminding him of children waiting for the next chapter of a thrilling yarn at bedtime, he shook his head and smiled.

“No. They were crystalline and almost completely see-through. Although they are quite large when fully grown, about the size of a cow, they didn't display any signs of intelligence and were classed as the Zimbari equivalent of an amoeba. The settlers christened them the Mericae.”

“Original,” Gwen interjected dryly.

Jack chuckled. “The Zimbari are not a species gifted with imagination,” he agreed. “The Mericae survived by soaking up the small amounts of solar radiation that reached the surface of the planet. It was a miracle of evolution really. The facets of the crystalline structure were angled to trap radiation of certain wavelengths, specifically those corresponding to UV radiation, and concentrate it inside the Mericae while allowing the remaining radiation wavelengths, including those of visible light, to pass straight through. Like a filter. They use the stored energy to grow and divide. But by the time I reached the Mericaesium Cluster the Mericae were all but extinct.”

“Why?” This time from Gwen.

“Because while the Zimbari might not be long on imagination, they know a chance for profit when they see one. The Zimbari worked out that they could use them as an energy source. See, in the very weak sunlight of the Mericaesium cluster, all the energy that the Mericae absorbed was used by the creature, but when the they were taken to a star emitting stronger UV radiation, they would absorb the amount they needed to grow and divide and then they would discharge the rest in a single burst of pure energy, an intense UV radiation burst. For the Zimbari, it was a dream come true, an unending energy source, a way of effectively harnessing the sun's rays. It was the ultimate in free solar power. So they captured all the Mericae, or as many as they could find, then shipped them off-world to sell to other species.”

“You mean they kept them as slaves,” Ianto said quietly.

“Yeah, but, well, they're not intelligent; they're just amoeba," Jack reasoned. “It's not really any different to utilising bacteria to make human insulin for medicine.”

“It still seems barbaric,” Ianto said. He knew what Jack was saying was true, but the Mericae weren't microscopic, they were the size of cows. Somehow size made a difference.

“It is, but then most of the universe is barbaric, Ianto,” Jack pointed out.

“Yes, sir. I'm coming to readily understand that,” Ianto replied.

“The thing is, the radiation burns on Katie Thompson and the others are consistent with being caught in a sudden burst of UV radiation. So what if one of these Mericae somehow came through the Rift?" Jack leant back so he could take in both Ianto and Gwen's expressions. Gwen looked thoughtful, whilst Ianto was looking at him askance.

“So you're saying we could have a see-through crystalline entity wandering around randomly blasting people with UV radiation.”

“Exactly.”

Ianto’s voice was laden with sarcasm. “Great. That should be easy enough to catch. A completely invisible foe that can fry you at a hundred paces.”

Jack shook his head with exasperation. “Like I said Ianto, they're not intelligent and they're not malevolent. It's just that they absorb too much radiation and they'll discharge it at whatever's near. If you just happen to be in the way...”

“OK,” said Ianto, “so let's say the Mericae are causing the radiation burns. What about the cancers? Have you ever heard of something similar in relation to the Mericae?"

“Not that I've heard of,” Jack admitted. “But I'm by no means an expert. I only know what I learnt in school.”

Somehow the idea of Jack as a schoolboy was too much for Ianto, who, picturing him in short trousers with a grubby untucked shirt, half-strangled by a knotted neck tie, made a noise which to Jack’s ears sounded suspiciously like a giggle. Jack glared at him severely until, feeling very much like the naughty schoolboy he’d been picturing, Ianto turned a vivid shade of scarlet and sank down in his seat.

Jack’s accusing glare turned into one of amusement and, leaning across to the blushing Ianto he whispered conspiratorially in his ear. Ianto made a choking noise and sank still lower in his seat as Jack leant back in his chair wearing an extremely superior expression.

At this point Gwen, who had been sat patiently listening to everything that Ianto and Jack had said, interrupted.

"How's this flimsy theory for you then, guys? Jack, you said the Mericae absorb specifically UV radiation, but what if they're also sensitive to rift energy? It is a form of radiation, after all. If a Mericae fell through the Rift, it could have absorbed rift energy as it came through. And that energy, well, piggybacks on the UV blast. A little bit of rift energy mixed in with the UV radiation. It would fit with the reducing levels with every new body, because the rift energy’s not renewable like the UV. It’s being used up with every blast. Would the rift energy be enough to trigger the rapid mutation rate and cause the cancers? We've seen it cause some pretty extreme temporal anomalies before.”

Jack furrowed his brow, trying to put it all together in his mind. It was a flimsy theory, based on a half-remembered 51st century lesson on renewable energy sources, plus several leaps in logic. They didn't really have any concrete evidence that the Mericae were involved, but the theory fit the few facts they were sure of. It was worth a shot. More than that, it was a threat he could do something about. A chance to keep Ianto alive and cheat death of his prize.

“It's certainly plausible,” he conceded. Gwen's face lit up at Jack's approval. “The question is, what do we do about it?”

“Catch it,” Gwen said briskly.

“That should be a breeze,” Ianto muttered sarcastically.

“Excuse me?” she queried, only half catching his words.

“I said, catching an invisible creature equipped with a built-in UV death ray should be a breeze,” Ianto repeated cuttingly. He smiled to take the sting from the words. The sarcasm was more for Jack than Gwen's benefit.

“O yea of little faith,” Jack scolded. “Have I ever let you down?”

Ianto and Gwen turned accusing eyes at Jack.

“So you have a plan?” they asked together.

“Absolutely,” Jack said confidently. “A very cunning plan.”

“Blackadder cunning or Baldrick cunning?” Ianto asked. Jack wrinkled his nose in confusion. Clearly the cultural reference was not one he recognised. Ianto made a mental note to introduce Jack to his complete collection of Blackadder the next time they got some time at his flat.

“Erm... Baldrick?” Jack said tentatively looking to Ianto for affirmation. Ianto and Gwen sighed deeply in unison.

“That's what we were afraid of,” Gwen groaned, dropping her head into her hands wearily.

Jack pushed his chair back and got to his feet, confusion still evident on his face.

“OK, first things first. We need some way to track this thing. Ianto, can you analyse those radiation signatures again and see if we missed something, given what we now know? Gwen, I need you to look into some way of catching it without hurting it. If it really is a Mericae, it's not malevolent.”

“And what are you going to do?” Gwen asked, folding her arms and looking at him expectantly.

“I need to put in a call to an old friend of mine, Stephen. I remember him once saying he used to be in something on TV called Blackadder...” With a knowing wink, he left the boardroom, Ianto and Gwen staring after him, stunned speechless in amazement.

-o0o-

As the door swung shut behind Jack, Gwen let out a long breath, her upbeat expression collapsing as she closed her eyes and lowered her head. Long strands of dark hair fell forward obscuring her face.

Ianto moved round one chair, taking Jack's place and took Gwen's hands between his own. At his touch her shoulders slumped forward and he heard the muted sounds of silent sobs.

“Gwen?” Infinitely gentle.

“I'm fine,” Gwen muttered between ragged breaths.

“You know people keep saying that to me today and it hasn't been true once,” Ianto scolded softly. Let me help you, Gwen. Like you helped me.”

Gwen raised her swimming eyes and stared at him through a veil of sodden lashes and dark hair.

“There isn't anything you can do. They're dead. I can't bring them back. Not even the miracle of nature that is Jack Harkness can do that.”

Ianto nodded his understanding. “So that's what this is, grief for Tosh and Owen?”

“Yes...No...I don't know. You and Jack came in, and you were so together, and I'm happy for you, I really am. But I just felt...alone. I'm the odd one now, the one that doesn't fit. We used to be a team...”

“We're still a team, Gwen,” Ianto assured her. “Jack and I have been shagging for months, years actually. Nothing has changed.”

Gwen shook her head sadly, sending rat-tails of hair whipping around her face. A few strands clung to her wet cheeks.

“Oh Ianto. Everything has changed. You and Jack aren't just shagging now and you know it. You're as much of a couple as me and Rhys. You're committed, now and forever, all you need are the rings.”

“But we're still a team,” Ianto insisted, pushing the tantalising thought of being married to Jack to the far recesses of his mind.

“For now,” Gwen allowed. “But Jack was talking to us about capturing this Mericae thing as if it was going to be a walk in the park and there are three of us. We couldn't even surround it if we wanted to.” She gave a hollow laugh.

“We'll find a way,” Ianto said firmly, unconsciously echoing Jack's promise to him earlier in the day.

“Maybe, this time. But what about next time, and the time after that. And the day that you or I don't make it and one of us has to watch Rhys or Jack tear themselves apart with grief. I'm not sure I can do that to Rhys. I'm not sure I can do any of it anymore.”

“We can recruit new people,” Ianto argued. He was scared. There was a note of defeat, of hopeless acceptance of the inevitable, in Gwen's voice, that he had never heard before. “A new team.”

“They won't be Tosh and Owen. They would never mean as much to me as they did. As much as you do.” Another sob, one which wrenched at Ianto's heart.

In one swift movement he had gathered Gwen up into a comforting hug, calmly stroking her hair, letting her tears fall unchecked against his shoulder, oblivious to the growing damp patch on the dark fabric. He didn't speak, Gwen didn't need to hear platitudes and false promises. There was every chance he could die today, tomorrow, next week or fifty years from now. The same was true for Gwen. She was looking for reassurances he couldn't make. All he could promise was that until that day when one of them didn't come home he would always be here for her, and Jack, if they needed him. He hoped that would be enough.

They stood motionless as Gwen's sobs subsided. Finally she gave a very unladylike sniff and raised her head. What remained of her mascara was streaked across her face, her eyes red and sore from crying blinked, stung by the remnants of sharp tears. Her cheeks were red and blotchy. She looked a mess but Ianto smiled at her as though she was the most beautiful woman on the planet.

“Sorry,” she muttered, embarrassed at her display of emotion. “I've got your suit all wet.”

Ianto barely spared it a glance. Instead he placed a soft, chaste kiss on her forehead, in the manner of an older brother.

“Don't apologise, my shoulder will always be available.” He rested his forehead against Gwen's. “Always, Gwen. No matter what. Even if you choose to walk out of here. Neither Jack or I would blame you.”

Gwen gave a watery smile.

“Where would I go?” She gave a little shrug. “I'm Torchwood, just like you. It's not something we choose. It's something we are.”

“I know. Irritating isn't it?” Ianto said with a flash of humour.

“Exceedingly,” Gwen concurred. “Looks like Rhys is going to be stuck with a Woman in Black for a while longer.”

“Men in Black! Please!” Ianto scoffed. “Amateurs, the lot of 'em.”

-o0o-

When Jack entered his office, he closed the door behind him and slumped into his chair. Gwen was right. What was he going to do? His most pressing problem was finding some way to prevent the events of his vision from coming true. Futile schemes ricocheted through his mind. He could confine Ianto to the Hub until he could neutralise the threat, if the Mericae really was the threat. He could take Ianto far away from here, to another planet, or, better still, another galaxy, and leave the Earth undefended. But Ianto would never allow it, and Jack would never force him.

But it wasn't just Ianto that needed saving. He'd been so caught up in finally reaching an understanding with Ianto that yet again he'd neglected Gwen. He'd listened to Gwen's calm explanations of the grief they were all feeling and he'd used that knowledge to finally put things right with Ianto. But he hadn't recognised that same grief in Gwen. His strong, capable Gwen who today had crumbled like an ancient plaster statue. For a split second he'd seen the censure in her eyes. The accusation that haunted him. That he could have prevented Tosh and Owen's deaths. But he'd had no warning. No inkling that death had been amongst them once again. Just the gut instinct that something was very wrong. The gut instinct he'd ignored in the overwhelming desire to be reunited with Gray. That mistake had cost two friends and god know how many unknown souls their lives. He couldn't make that mistake again. For Gwen and Ianto's sake.

He shook his head trying to clear his thoughts. To make those connections in his mind which had always seemed to come so easily before. But every path his mind set out on was blocked by mist and mire, only the vivid image of Ianto's burnt and blistered face appearing clear. He closed his eyes, a tidal wave of helplessness swamping his senses. For one of the few times in his life, Captain Jack Harkness didn't know what to do. And it was going to kill the love of his life.


	10. Chapter 10

It was late. The omnipresent hum of the city that filtered deep into the Hub had retreated to just the distant blast of taxi cabs' horns and the occasional burst of raucous laughter from some of Cardiff's revellers making their way back across the Plass from the bars and restaurant that lined Mermaid Quay. The oppressive heat of the day which had earlier made Ianto's cotton shirt stickily cling to his back had dissipated, and the damp material was unpleasantly clammy against his skin. He gave an involuntary shiver and sat more upright on his chair, arching his back to ease his stiff muscles. He rolled his shoulders a couple of times, then, with one hand, he tried to massage the muscles at the base of his neck. He glanced at the clock keeping time at the bottom of the monitor. Midnight. He'd been at it for hours.

The computer pinged, drawing his attention back to the main information on the screen. A red flashing message box. Simulation failed. Ianto swore crudely. Ripping the top sheet from his pad of post-it notes, he scrunched it into a little ball and sent it flying across the walkway towards the rubbish bin. It missed, the fluorescent green ball joining a small mountain of other green, pink, yellow and orange balls on the floor. Ianto swore again. Then, with a wide yawn, he read the numbers jotted on the next post-it note and entered them into the computer. With a disheartened sigh he set the program running, watching the red message box be replaced by a green one. Simulation in progress 0.1%. It had been a long evening and it looked like it was going to be an even longer night. Reaching across the uncharacteristically untidy workstation he plucked a half-finished bottle of beer from amid the detritus and finished it in a single gulp. He checked the screen again. Simulation in progress 0.9%. Shoving aside a stack of papers until there was enough room, he rested his elbow there, then rested his chin on his hand, his index figure tapping on his cheek in time to the low music spilling out of his iPod docked next to the computer. The track changed, the Doves' Kingdom of Rust giving way to Barclay James Harvest’s The World Goes On. Perfect. Idly he began to sing along under his breath.

-o0o-

From the shadows Jack watched. He'd spent several hours closeted in his office, his mind spinning round and round and round, totally out of control, the vision flashing over and over before his eyes in all its multicoloured gore. Desperately trying to find a way out. All that time and he hadn't found an answer. Not one. He still felt as impotent as he had when he’d first walked away from Ianto and Gwen in the Boardroom. Leaving them to work it out because he wasn't capable. Leaving them even though he knew Gwen was close to breaking. Leaving them so they wouldn't see the weakness in his eyes. Finally, the futility of his thoughts had driven him back downstairs, aching for Ianto's reassuring touch. Engrossed in his task, Ianto had been oblivious to Jack's descent from his office. And Jack was suddenly mesmerised by the sight of Ianto, jacket off, shirt sleeves rolled up, hair sticking out at crazy angles where he had run hot hands through, the planes of his shoulder blades defined by clinging damp material. He felt a searing wave of desire that left him leaning weakly against the banister on the bottom step of the stairs, cast deeply in shadow.

Now, watching Ianto doggedly struggle with the task Jack had set him, exhaustion and frustration writ large on his face, Jack felt a fresh wave of angry helplessness. He couldn't lose him, not this wonderful, amazing human being who must be as scared as Jack was at the path fate appeared to have set out for him. And yet, he worked on and could sing a tune as he did so. And Prog Rock? What was that all about? Ianto Jones constantly surprised him. Despite his dark thoughts, Jack smiled.

“You know, it's not the done thing to spy on someone from the shadows, sir,” Ianto said suddenly, without turning round. “What are you doing?”

“Admiring the view,” Jack confessed, stepping forward into the light. Ianto raised his head and spun round on his chair until he was facing the Captain. Seeing Jack, he smiled.

“Well, that's... ” He gave a wide yawn, covering his mouth with one hand whilst the other waved about in a hang-on-a-minute fashion, “...alright then,” he finished, giving an apologetic smile. “Sorry.”

Jack waved his apology away. “Don't be. I'm sorry I left you having to handle this by yourself for so long. How's it going?”

Ianto gave a scowl that spoke volumes but merely said sadly, “Tosh could do this stuff in her sleep. Not that she'd need to. She'd have had this cracked hours ago. I'm out of my depth, Jack.”

Jack nodded. “Don't sell yourself short, Yan. I'm not asking you to be Tosh. No one could be another Tosh. She was unique. You keep being you and we'll be fine.”

Ianto's computer pinged. Wearily Ianto swivelled back to the screen, his lack of expectation evident. This time the green message box was still flashing on the screen. Successful simulation complete.

“Yes!” Ianto punched the air in delight. “Finally.”

“See?” Jack teased. “Ianto Jones, genius.”

“Ianto Jones, one hundred and twenty-second time lucky,” Ianto corrected, nodding towards the pile of post-it notes on the floor.

“Doesn't matter. You still found the answer of how to track this thing. How is Gwen doing? Has she gone home?”

Ianto shook his head and pointed across to the far side of the Hub where the tatty leather sofa was pushed against the wall. Jack followed his finger, seeing Gwen curled up, back against the cushions, knees tucked up in front of her, fast asleep. Ianto's jacket was draped over her shoulders. Jack looked questioningly at Ianto.

“She found her answer hours ago. She said she was going to grab a five minute break and that was it. She's been there for a couple of hours now. I didn't want to wake her, so I rang Rhys, let him know she was staying here.” Ianto paused, debating whether or not to continue. Finally he said in a low voice, “She got pretty upset after you left, Jack. I'm worried about her.”

“Did she say what was bothering her?” Jack asked in concern.

Ianto shrugged helplessly. “A lot of it is the same as what’s wrong with us. Losing Owen and Tosh. But there's other stuff. She's afraid of what will happen to Rhys if something happens to her...or you if something happens to me.” He paused, waiting for Jack's reaction.

“Did you tell her? About today?” Jack said fearfully.

Ianto shook his head. “No. It wasn't specific. She's just scared of the future. She's not sure Torchwood Three is strong enough to handle what’s coming now.” Ianto levelled his eyes at Jack and added, “And I think she might be right. We need to find new people, Jack. Make Torchwood strong again. Three people can't defend the whole of planet Earth.” He huffed a laugh. “God, I'm not even sure we can protect Cardiff.”

“We have so far,” protested Jack. “What about the Dalek invasion?”

Ianto looked at him disbelievingly. “Are you conveniently forgetting the fact we had three Timelords on our side, not to mention Rose, Martha, Sarah Jane and the rest? And even with them we only scraped through by the skin of our teeth. What happens the next time, when the Doctor is nowhere to be found and we really are on our own? Face it, Jack. We'd be screwed.”

“I'm not going to inflict this life on anyone else. I'm not going to watch any more of you die. This is not a topic for discussion.” Jack was angry now, his voice harsh and loud in the Hub, drowning out the music still playing softly from the workstation behind Ianto. More Prog Rock. Close to the Edge.

Ianto stood up angrily and stalked past Jack towards the Hub door.

“You're a fool, Jack.” he said harshly. “You're immortal. I'll die, Gwen will die. Everyone will die. You can't protect yourself from that.” He stopped abruptly, spinning to face Jack, horrified at what he'd just said. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that...” He trailed off as he witnessed the despair in Jack's eyes. “Cariad.” The endearment was a whispered plea for forgiveness.

Jack stood unmoving, back stiff, face unreadable, brittle as glass. Then, with a shuddering breath, he took a single awkward step towards Ianto. It was all Ianto needed. In three steps he had crossed the distance between them, wrapping his arms around the older man, the words “I'm sorry, I'm so sorry” spilling unchecked from his lips.

“I do have a choice,” Jack said stiffly. “I could leave.” Ianto felt his heart stop dead in his chest. What had he done? Had he unthinkingly, mind clouded by fatigue, said something truly unforgivable? Something that would drive Jack away for good?

“But you're not going to?” he asked carefully, scarcely breathing.

For a long minute Jack remained rigid and silent in his arms, then Ianto felt his shoulders fall and Jack hesitantly raised his arms, returning the embrace.

“No,” he whispered. Ianto felt some of the tightness in his chest leach away.

“I'm very glad about that,” Ianto said quietly, pressing a kiss to Jack's cheek. “Because you belong here, with me.”

“Do I? Really?” Again whispered, his voice filled with uncertainty.

“I've never been more certain of anything in my life,” Ianto said firmly, his voice gaining confidence as he spoke.

“Even if it kills you?”

Ianto didn't bother answering. Instead he transferred his kiss to Jack's mouth, intent on wiping away any trace of doubt. Jack responded somewhat hesitantly. After a moment Ianto pulled away.

“You know I didn't mean what I said, don't you? I was talking bollocks, cariad. It was just tiredness and worrying about Gwen.”

Jack sighed and gave a twisted smile. “Don't lie, Yan. It wasn't bollocks; it was the truth. Fuelled by tiredness and worry maybe, but still the truth. Everyone I ever know will die, and nothing I do will change that. But I can't use it as an excuse not to get involved. However much I might fight it, when it comes down to it, I don't want to live my life alone.”

“I don't want you to either,” Ianto commented, “but then I'm biased.”

“Thank god,” Jack said quietly but with a touch of humour, allowing himself a genuine if small smile.

They stood in a loose embrace, each waiting for the other to speak. There was an awkward silence. Then Ianto yawned widely, giving Jack a front row view of his tonsils.

“Sorry,” Ianto said embarrassed. “I'm tired. I should go home.”

Jack's face darkened. “You don't want to stay here?”

Ianto's brow creased in surprise. “I figured you'd want a bit of time to yourself after I insulted you so unforgivably,” he said honestly.

“I don't want to let you out of my sight ever again,” Jack stated firmly, then reddened. “I mean, until the threat of that vision isn't hanging over you anymore,” he qualified rapidly before coughing self-consciously.

Ianto tilted his head to one side and considered Jack's red face.

“Of course,” he said placatingly. “Bed then?”

Jack smiled and nodded his approval at the plan. Then he glanced across to Gwen, still sleeping peacefully on the sofa.

“What about Gwen? Should we leave her there?”

“She looks comfy enough. Let her sleep,” Ianto replied.

“Hang on a sec.” Jack turned and ran up to his office, taking the stairs two at a time. After a moment he returned, clutching his greatcoat.

“It gets cold down here at night,” he said unnecessarily as he carefully laid it over her legs. They stood for a moment, looking at the makeshift quilt of Ianto's jacket and Jack's coat, then wordlessly Ianto grabbed Jack's hand and, for the second night in a row, led Jack to his bunker.

-o0o-

The crumpled sheet and duvet thrown haphazardly across the mattress spoke of their hurried departure that morning. Uncaring Ianto sank wearily onto the edge of the bed and began to unbutton his shirt. Jack stood to one side and watched as Ianto shrugged off the still damp material, scrunched it into a ball and tossed it in the corner, an extremely un-Iantoish move. He caught Jack's surprised glance and gave a tired smile.

“Can't be arsed. It needs washing anyway,” he explained. At Jack's continued look of surprise he added, “I can be a slob when the occasion demands it.” He stood up and stepped out of his trousers and shorts, which joined the shirt in the corner. Falling into bed with a relieved sigh, his eyes closed as soon as his head hit the pillow.

As he watched, Jack felt a warm glow spread though his chest, driving away the last of the cold fear that had gripped him as Ianto stalked past him towards the Hub door. Ianto's tirade had barely penetrated his brain, lost in the roaring that filled his ears as Ianto threatened to pass through the rolling door, beyond the safe cocoon of the Hub. Out into the city where Jack could no longer protect him. Driven by Jack lashing out. He wouldn't make the same mistake again.

Quietly he undressed and slipped into bed next to Ianto. He pulled the sleeping man against him, wrapping one arm around Ianto's waist. Ianto stirred, mumbling Jack's name.

“Sssh, sleep,” Jack told him in a low voice. At his words, Ianto smiled faintly and snuggled closer, his breaths becoming deep and even. Jack listened, trying to match his own breaths to the rhythm, letting his mind focus on Ianto's emanating warmth, the feel of Ianto's skin under his hand. He slept.

There was a sound, a guttural inarticulate cry. Not loud, but enough to jar Ianto Jones into wakefulness. Groggily he opened his eyes. On the pillow beside him he could make out the outline of Jack's back and head silhouetted by the dim light filtering down from Jack's office and the Hub beyond, through the open bunker hatch.

The vast cavern of the Hub was never dark, a system of recessed lights and emergency lighting grids maintained a minimum twilight level of illumination twenty-four hours a day. Ianto found it comforting. On the few occasions the Hub had been plunged into darkness, it had proved to be a terrifying place.

The guttural cry sounded again and Jack's head and shoulders spasmed on the pillow, the duvet suddenly pulling taut across Ianto's shoulders. Ianto gave a small, sad sigh. Another nightmare. Another night of Jack being tortured while he slept. He rolled back freeing one arm from beneath the duvet and carefully and lightly placed his hand on Jack's shoulder. Jack shuddered at the contact but did not wake. Ianto let his hand lie, his thumb rhythmically stroking Jack's flushed skin. A tiny caress. Jack moaned. This time the sound had form, Ianto's name, uttered in tones of despair. Jack was reliving his vision.

Ianto leaned across so that his lips were brushing the delicate curve of Jack's ear.

“I'm here,” he whispered. “I'm safe.”

At his voice, some of the tension seemed to leave Jack's shoulders. A hand snaked up, covering Ianto's hand and pinning it in position. There was silence, then a tiny snuffle, the kind that spoke of restful sleep. Ianto smiled in the half-light at the sound. If only all of Jack's nightmares were so easy to quell, dissipated by a single touch. He snuggled closer to Jack and closed his eyes, willing sleep to return.

-o0o-

An hour later and he had given up the fight, his mind refusing to settle. Carefully he slid his hand out from beneath Jack's and cautiously pushed himself up on one elbow, studying the profile of the sleeping man beside him. The aquiline planes of his nose, the chiselled cut of his cheekbones and chin. God, Ianto thought with exasperation and a degree of horrified amusement, I'm actually starting to think like a Mills and Boon novel. Of course it didn't help that Jack was quite possibly the most attractive man on the planet, especially now, when the sometimes harsh set of his features was softened by sleep. It was a view only a privileged few would ever see. And, for a while at least, it was a view that belonged to him alone. Ianto felt a spark of smug satisfaction. As if aware of Ianto's scrutiny, Jack rolled onto his back, giving Ianto a full, unobstructed view of his face. His dark lashes were fanned across his cheeks, lashes any woman would kill for. There was a smug smile on his face that echoed Ianto's current sentiments. Clearly whatever was occupying Jack's dreams now was a good deal more pleasurable. Ianto trusted they concerned him.

Ianto climbed carefully across Jack, holding his breath as he straddled him, fully aware of what would happen if Jack chose that moment to wake. The temptation to wake him and accept the consequences was immense but, clinging onto his few remaining threads of will-power, Ianto slid out from under the duvet, leaving Jack cocooned beneath the white cotton. Ianto glanced at the screwed up shirt on the floor and wrinkled his nose. Not an option. His eyes fell on Jack's pale blue shirt, for once hung neatly across the back of Ianto's wooden chair. With a grin, he pulled it on, enjoying the scent of Jack still clinging to its soft folds. Confident that his modesty was almost assured, he quickly ascended the ladder.

The background hum of the Hub met his ears as he exited Jack's office. Underneath he could hear the vocals of Phil Collins and Genesis emanating from his forgotten iPod, still softly playing at his workstation. He stood listening to the words, smiling at the lyrics. It seemed his iPod was intent on playing the soundtrack of his life.

_In your arms_   
_I feel so safe and so secure_   
_Every day is such a perfect day to spend._   
_Alone with you_

He scanned the Hub below him. In the dim light he was just able to make out Gwen, still sleeping peacefully below. He looked down at his attire. He should probably acquire some trousers before Gwen woke up, he thought, the sudden vision of Gwen's face at being confronted by Ianto in a state of considerable undress making him chuckle softly. He slipped silently down the stairs, heading for the locker room and a spare pair of jeans.

-o0o-

The locker room was bathed in harsh, white fluorescent light. The last one out, maybe Gwen, had forgotten to extinguish the lights. Ianto blinked, shielding his eyes from the glare as he entered and crossed to the bank of lockers on the opposite wall. Eight doors, four of them neatly labelled in Ianto's precise handwriting; just two were occupied now. He pulled open the door of his locker with a clang. There was no point in locking it. It wasn't as if they really had thieves to worry about and, if Jack was intent on snooping through the contents, as he occasionally took pleasure in doing, a flimsy padlock or number pad wasn't going to stand in his way. Ianto targeted the head-high shelf, reaching in and pulling out a rolled up pair of denim jeans. Rolled up inside the jeans was a pair of crisp cotton shorts. He looked at them contemplatively. Definitely a shower first. He was just about to stuff the jeans back into the locker and head for the showers when he noticed a white envelope on the floor, which must have fallen as the jeans had pulled free. He picked it up and looked at the handwriting on the front, his heart suddenly racing as he remembered the night he wrote the contents. A night very like tonight, only a few short weeks ago, when the nightmares had come and, unable to sleep, he had poured out his bottled-up feelings onto a sheet of crisp white paper. Ianto turned it over. The flap tucked in and a single long black hair, Gwen's, tucked in across it. His snoop detector, just as he had left it. He wasn't sure why he had left it unsealed. Perhaps unconsciously he'd wanted Jack to look. To take the initiative. But Jack hadn't seen it, Ianto thought with relief, knowing with certainty that if Jack had read the contents, he would have heard about it by now. At some length, he thought wryly. With a shaking hand he slipped his index finger under the flap, pulling it free, and carefully pulled out the paper, his other hand ready to catch the object which he knew was nestled between the sheets. A platinum ring, bought and engraved in a moment of madness, which he had never dared to present to the man for whom it was intended. It dropped soundlessly into his palm and he clenched his fingers over it. Then he opened the paper and read.

 

 

> _Dear Jack,_
> 
> _If you are reading this then something has gone very wrong and I'm dead (either that or I'm out getting coffee and you are snooping, in which case I hope you feel suitably ashamed when you next see me!). I'm writing this just after you woke up after that terrible waking coma, when I thought I'd lost you for ever and I said all those things, told you all my fears, worried about just being a blip in time for you. I know you heard me. Thank you for not making me feel foolish._
> 
> _It made me wonder though just what we were to each other, where we would end up if we managed to beat the odds. I guess if you are reading this we never did beat those odds or maybe we did and it's eighty years on. I'm not a fool though. With the life we lead, I don't think I'll ever live to be an old man. Anyway, after the whole Dalek thing, you tried to tell me how you felt. I know it wasn't easy for you. But for me it was all too new, too fragile, and scary, I suppose. I kept you at arm’s length and never really told you how I truly felt. But I'm not scared anymore and I need to tell you now._
> 
> _You mean everything to me, Jack Harkness. I love you body and soul, and although I know that even with a fair wind behind us we could only ever be together for a while, you should know you are, and will always be, the love of my life._
> 
> _In this new liberated world, I would marry you this minute, Jack, and shout it to the world if you asked me. I would ask you, but I'm not that brave. I'm afraid you would say no or talk me out of it with some rubbish about how you couldn't be with me forever. So in case, when you read this, you never got the chance to ask me, I'll ask you now, safe in the pages of this letter. Will you marry me, Jack?_
> 
> _If, when you read this, we are not together any ore and you have another love, please, please, don't feel guilty. Just bury the letter and the ring and be happy with my blessing. I've been so happy with you, Jack, and whatever happens I will thank you for that. Forever._
> 
> _I love you. Ianto x_

Everything had changed now. His feelings for Jack were no longer confined to a single sheet of writing paper. They had been declared, accepted and returned. He turned the ring over in his fingers, watching as the smooth surface glinted in the light. Soon he would take the letter and the ring, and ask Jack outright. He wasn't scared of Jack's answer any more. Soon. When the threat of the vision was far behind them. With a determined smile he slipped the ring and the letter back into the envelope, licked the adhesive strip and sealed it shut. Then he pushed it far back into the locker, ready for that day. He closed the locker door with a resounding clang and, whistling, headed for the showers.

-o0o-

Jack woke to the smell of freshly brewed coffee and, if his nose wasn't deceiving him, bacon sandwiches. He rolled onto his back, finding the bed beside him cold and empty. Clearly Ianto had been up and about for some time. He pushed up on his elbows, casting his eyes about the room.

“Ianto,” he hollered, grinning in satisfaction as Ianto's head appeared almost immediately through the hatch. “Coffee would be great.”

Ianto raised his eyebrows. “It's on your desk,” he commented cheekily as he vanished.

“Ianto!” Jack called again. Ianto's head reappeared. Clearly he'd been expecting the second call. “Where's my shirt?”

Ianto pushed his head further into the bunker until Jack caught a flash of blue about Ianto's shoulders. “On my back.” Ianto grinned, seeing Jack's eyes flare.

“What am I supposed to wear?” Jack asked in mock petulance. Ianto retreated out of sight and a second later a blue shirt, still wrapped in shiny cellophane, arced through the air, narrowly missing Jack's head.

“Boardroom in 5 minutes,” Ianto ordered from above, “or Gwen's got first dabs on your bacon sandwich.”

Jack chuckled as he threw back the duvet and clambered out of bed, standing and stretching his long limbs unselfconsciously. From above there came the distinct sound of Ianto's wolf whistle. A moment later a second one cut the air.

“Morning, Jack,” came Gwen's cheery call. Jack dived for the duvet.

-o0o-

“So what have we got?” Jack asked, throwing himself into his chair and banging his half-empty coffee cup down on the polished wood, precisely four minutes later. He seized the last remaining bread roll stuffed with bacon from on top of a white, grease-stained paper bag and bit into it with gusto, sending a tiny squirt of brown sauce cascading down his chin.

“Mmmm,” he enthused, wiping off the offending streak with one long finger and transferring it to his mouth. Gwen and Ianto watched mesmerised. Three more bites and the sandwich had vanished. He swilled down the last of the half-chewed bacon with the dregs of his coffee, leaning back in his chair with a deep, satisfied and unconcerned burp.

Ianto coughed. “Erm, tracking it should be straightforward enough, now I've managed to modify the Hub's scanner correctly. It was just a matter of finding the correct settings.”

“One hundred and twenty-second time lucky?” Jack teased.

“Something like that,” Ianto agreed levelly. “After a bit of trial and error, I've managed to make it possible for the Hub scanners to detect fluctuations in UV levels, in the same way they detect fluctuations in Rift energy. I've set them to alert us if they find spikes in UV and rift energy co-localising to the same co-ordinates.”

“Clever,” Jack said approvingly, but Gwen looked confused.

“Can't we just use the rift energy to track it? The thing is riddled with it, isn't it?”

“It was when it first came through,” Ianto agreed, “but it's been steadily losing it every time it discharges. By now the levels will be severely reduced and they'll get lower every time it lets fly. We only have a limited window to catch it. Once the rift energy is completely expended, the UV fluctuations alone won't be enough.”

“How long do you think we've got?” Jack asked.

Ianto shrugged. “A day, maybe two. It depends on how often it discharges, which depends on how sunny it is. For once, a rainy Cardiff day would be a good thing. Unfortunately for us, overcast until mid-afternoon is as good as we are going to get, presuming the local weather report is right for once.”

“OK, so let's assume we catch a break and we can track the Mericae to somewhere specific. How do we catch it?”

It was Gwen's turn. She pushed a brown manila folder embossed with the Torchwood logo across the table. Jack picked it up and perused the contents.

“The capsule cell?”

“Uh-huh. The thing we used to trap that gaseous alien my first day.”

“I know what it is,” Jack protested. “I thought the battery was dead.”

“It was, then. Tosh found a way to recharge it, and made a few improvements.”

“Of course she did.” Jack smiled warmly, remembering how Tosh was always tinkering with something. Trying to find a way of improving their odds. Gwen echoed the smile.

“She beefed the battery right up. It's good for at least a couple of hours now. She also found a way to modulate the frequency of the energy field so it was effective on a wider variety of alien species.”

“How do you know this?” Jack asked curiously.

“You know Tosh, ever efficient. She left an instruction manual on top of it down in the arsenal.” Gwen said with a short laugh. “I can set the energy field so that once the Mericae is contained inside, it won't be able to absorb any more UV. Then we'll have a couple of hours to secure it back here in one of the lower cells.”

“Who's a clever girl then?” Jack and Ianto chimed together. “Just one thing,” Jack continued, “how do we get it inside the cell in the first place?”

“Ah, for that we need to call in at the Quick Tan salon on the Penarth Road,” Gwen said, tapping a finger on the side of her nose conspiratorially, “and Ianto to load up the SUV with a shed load of batteries.”

“And this helps us how?” Jack enquired with a frown.

“We need to force the Mericae to discharge. Once it's depleted, it won't be a threat until it can recharge. I'm guessing even with the high amount of UV light on Earth it's still going to take a few minutes. While it's powerless, we set the capsule cell up around it. We can use a lighting rig from one of those vertical tanning booths to overload it with UV, but we need to power it, hence the batteries,”

Jack looked thoughtful. “I don't know, it seems a bit thrown together. Not exactly high-tech Torchwood, more...”

“MacGyver?” Ianto suggested with a grin.

“Exactly.” There was a lot of scope for this to go wrong, Jack thought. He would have preferred being able to take this thing out from the other side of Wales. This plan involved them getting up close and personal. All of them.

“Look, as long as it works, I don't really give a toss what it looks like!” Gwen said indignantly, breaking his train of thought.

“Getting this thing to discharge on command will be dangerous,” Jack pointed out. “We don't know what direction it's going to let fly.”

“So we set up the lights, then retreat to a safe distance and operate them remotely,” Gwen argued. “That's not outside the realm of our abilities.” Her words were laced with sarcasm. What was the problem? Normally Jack would have been all over this plan like a rash. Now he seemed to be trying anything to avoid carrying it out.

If Gwen didn't understand Jack's reticence, Ianto certainly did. Jack was looking for a way to keep him safe. His next line of attack would involve Ianto co-ordinating the capture from back in the Hub. He knew he should share Jack's fear about the vision, and he did, but strangely he had never felt more alive than he did now. Perhaps it was the knowledge that he wasn't hiding anymore. All the thoughts and feelings he'd fought so hard to keep locked away were finally at the surface for all to see. It was liberating.

“I think it'll work,” he said cheerfully, aiming to defuse the tension that had sprung up between Gwen and Jack. “With the three of us, it should be a breeze, assuming the Mericae hasn't got a good set of running legs on it.” He gave Jack a deliberate look that said there would be no keeping to the side-lines for him.

Jack knew he was defeated. The expression in Ianto's eyes was mutinous. Gwen's challenging. Ianto knew what Jack was trying to do and he wasn't having any of it. All he could do was stay alert and try to stave off the inevitable. It didn't feel natural, deferring to the wishes of his team. In the old days, he would have issued a command and they would have all obeyed it, no matter how ludicrous. But now things were different. Gwen, and especially Ianto, weren't just his team any more. They were his family, and that made a difference. He knew it in his gut, but it just wasn't that easy to come to terms with.

“All right, MacGyver it is. Gwen, you sort out the Capsule cell and get the UV lamps.” Immediately Gwen clambered to her feet and was already halfway down the corridor before Jack had chance to continue. “Ianto, I think we can probably do better for power sources than half a dozen car batteries. See what you can find in the vaults.”

“Yes, sir!” Ianto replied smartly, resisting a strong urge to raise a cheeky salute.

“Oh, and set that search programme going. If we're going to do this we need to do it before the sun comes out.”

“Already done, sir. I set it on a pretty wide sweep of the Cardiff area. Do you want me to narrow the search parameters?”

“Well, the Mericae can move but not fast,” Jack said, weighing up the facts. “If I remember right, the crystalline matrix destabilises, they extend a pseudopod, that's a tentacle to you and me, and the main mass of the creature kind of blobs into it. It keeps going until it needs to recharge. As you can imagine, it didn't move a whole lot on its home planet. But here? We've seen it can get a couple of miles in a few hours. We should centre the search around the Penarth area, probably concentrating on areas of open ground. Start at Lavernock Point and sweep out from there.”

“Will do. Anything else?” Ianto got to his feet, collecting the empty coffee cups and discarded paper bags that had held the bacon sandwiches. He turned to head for the door.

“Loving the new look, Ianto Jones,” Jack gave a lascivious grin, openly admiring Ianto's retreating arse. “You look very hot in my shirt...and those jeans...oh boy!”

Ianto turned back to face Jack, a satisfied smile plastered across his face, pleased that his choice of attire had gained the reaction he had hoped for.

“I just have one question...” Jack continued, his frankly appreciative eyes now fixed firmly at the level of Ianto's crotch. “Prog rock? What is that all about?”

Ianto's peal of laughter echoed in the boardroom long after the young man had vanished down the corridor.

“Jack! Gwen! We've got a hit!” Ianto called loudly across the Hub two hours later. The green message box was flashing at two-second intervals, alternating with a topographic map of the Penarth area. At the centre of the map a red dot indicated the location of the hit.

Jack poked his head out of his office door almost at the same moment that Gwen emerged from one of the doors leading to the lower levels of the Hub.

“Where?” Jack called as he half jumped, half-slid down the metal-stairs, greatcoat in hand.

Ianto cancelled the flashing alert notification so that he could examine the map beneath in detail. “The Dinas Powys Golf Club,” he replied rapidly. “A couple of miles inland from Lavernock Point. I'm pulling up a schematic of the course now.”

Jack gave a groan. “That's all we need, half a dozen dead golfers to add to the tally. I bet the place is heaving today.”

Gwen had whipped out her mobile and was already dialling as Jack spoke. It was answered on the second ring.

“Andy? It's Gwen,” she said urgently. There was the muted sound of conversation on the other end of the line. Gwen scowled as Andy chattered inconsequentially into her ear. Jack and Ianto watched with amusement at Gwen's increasing frustration. Finally, as Andy paused for a millisecond to take breath, Gwen broke in, her voice loud and angry.

“Andy! Shut up, will you? No. I agree that you should be in the loop.... For fuck's sake, that's what I'm trying to do, if you'd give me the bloody chance! Look, I need you to evacuate and seal off the Dinas Powys Golf Club....Yes, all of it...I don't know, say there has been a chemical leak, or a wild animal sighting. It doesn't matter. Just get everyone off the course and lock it down until we arrive...Twenty minutes or so....Thanks, Andy.” She paused, her voice softening as she added seriously, “Don't go and try to play the hero, will you? The thing we're looking for is invisible...Yes, invisible. Be safe. We'll be there as soon as we can.”

Gwen hung up.

“Andy's going to shut down the course. Hopefully that should minimise casualties.”

Jack nodded. “Good. Have we got everything in place?”

Gwen and Ianto nodded. Ianto reached across his workstation and picked up his gun, tucking it into the waistband of his jeans in the small of his back. Then he picked up his PDA and waved it at Jack.

“I've programmed the sensors to feed back to my PDA, in case it moves,” he explained.

Gwen reached under the back of her jacket, checking that her gun was also in place and secure, then, taking the lead, she disappeared through the rolling door in the direction of the SUV. Jack lingered, waiting until Gwen was out of earshot.

“No suit?” he asked softly. “I thought that was your standard uniform.”

Ianto looked at him levelly, his eyes serious. “I'm not tempting fate. Different location, different clothes, different outcome? Just for today the suit can stay firmly in the closet.”

Jack leaned over and kissed Ianto gently but possessively, his own eyes boring into Ianto's. Then wordlessly he turned and strode out of the door. Ianto didn't move, eyes fixed sightlessly on the space Jack had just vacated.

“Ianto?” Jack called from out of sight and down the corridor. “You coming? Torchwood business calling.”

“Bugger Torchwood,” Ianto muttered to no-one in particular, as he blinked to awareness. Before hurrying after Jack, he glanced briefly around the empty Hub, considering the whirr and hum of computers and machines, the fizzing of electric lights, the clanking of the water pipes and the gentle wash of the water lapping in the basin. Underpinning it all were the muted sounds of the city above. The music of Torchwood. This was the real soundtrack of his life. And maybe his death?


	11. Chapter 11

The light took him square in the chest. It flowed over and around him and for an instant he vanished in a blinding halo of utter whiteness. Just as suddenly, the glare faded. His body seemed to hang in the air, looking for all the world like a broken marionette suspended by tangled strings, his arms and legs skewed at unnatural angles. Then, slowly, soundlessly, he crumpled to the ground.

-o0o-

_One hour ago..._

Ianto found himself relegated to the back seat of the SUV for the journey to the golf course. He told himself that it made more sense for him to sit in the rear where he could more easily monitor the results of the search algorithm transmitted from the Hub systems. But watching Gwen, grinning from ear to ear as Jack launched the Range Rover up the ramp which marked the exit from the underground car park, he couldn't help but feel that she had stolen his rightful place next to Jack. He tried to keep one eye on the display set into the back of Gwen's seat whilst the other was fixed firmly on the road. The lunchtime traffic was making progress difficult and Jack seemed incensed by the number of cars blocking his progress. Blue lights flashing, he leant on the horn with increasing impatience, swearing when drivers, annoyed at his aggressive driving, deliberately feigned ignorance of his presence.

“Are these people deaf?” he yelled as he once again jabbed on the horn, sending a long, angry blast of sound in the direction of a particularly slow moving Fiat. “God, what I wouldn't give for a hover car right now.” Spotting a short stretch of empty space in the oncoming traffic he gunned the engine and pointed the SUV into the narrow space, overtaking the Fiat before swerving back in front of it, slamming on the brakes to avoid hitting the car in front. Gwen gave a whoop of delight. The Fiat and the car coming the opposite direction, which he had barely missed, both gave a blast on their horns. Jack answered in kind, setting up a cacophony of sound.

“I think that manoeuvre made up twenty feet,” Ianto said mildly, shaking his head. Jack turned in his seat to give him an icy glare.

“Do you want to drive?” he asked sarcastically.

“Yes, actually.”

Jack looked vaguely taken aback at Ianto's reply.

“Well, you can't,” he said, lost for a wittier retort. Ianto raised an eyebrow, preparing to launch a second salvo, but a flare on his screen grabbed his attention. He looked at the display for a few seconds, jabbing at the attached keyboard frantically.

“Shit!” he swore loudly, cutting through Gwen's laughter stopping it dead. Jack cast his eyes back to Ianto in concern.

“What is it?” he asked sharply.

“There's been a spike of UV and rift energy at the golf course,” Ianto replied anxiously.

“So?” Jack said unconcerned. “That just proves it's still there, right?”

“Oh, it's there all right,” Ianto agreed with a grimace. “For now. The only problem is, the discharge looks to have used up the last of the stored rift energy. I'm not detecting any co-localising rift and UV energy now.”

“Which means?” Gwen asked in confusion, not grasping the problem, although by the set of Jack's jaw Ianto knew he had caught on.

“Which means we can't track it any more, right?” Jack said darkly.

“Exactly,” Ianto confirmed. “If it moves now, I won't be able to pinpoint its location with any accuracy.”

“Is there anything you can do?” Gwen asked, turning around in her seat so she could look at Ianto's worried face, trying to judge just how big a deal this was going to be. A pretty big deal, she decided, taking in his dark eyes and furrowed brow.

“We knew exactly where it was when it discharged,” Ianto explained, “so I've re-tasked the Hub's sensors to use its last known position, factoring in increased UV levels in the area, to estimate which direction it might be moving in. But it's not going to be accurate to more than a quarter of a square mile, and that's a pretty big haystack when you're looking for an invisible needle.”

Jack looked at the practically stationary queue of traffic hemming in the SUV on all four sides. Five hundred yards ahead, tantalisingly close, he could see the junction that would allow him to get off the main road and take the back road out of town. If they were to have any hope of catching this creature and averting his prophecy, they needed to reach the golf course quickly, before the alien had time to move too far. Scanning the road quickly, he spotted a possible escape route.

“Screw this,” he muttered. With an evil grin, he turned, giving Ianto and Gwen a wink. “Buckle up, boys and girls; we're going for a ride.” With a gulp, Gwen hurriedly checked her seatbelt while in the rear seat Ianto did the same, before grabbing onto the handle set into the curved roof of the SUV above the door. The last time Jack had said something along those lines, he'd driven them straight down a hundred foot, shale cliff face.

“Ready?” Jack asked, his grin if anything growing wider and more evil. Mutely, Gwen and Ianto nodded. Without another word, Jack swung the wheel, powering the Range Rover into the stationary lane of traffic to the left of them, through the non-existent gap between a bottle green Mini and a red Ford Ka. There was the agonising screech of metal on metal as Jack forcibly separated the two smaller cars, using the bulk of the SUV. Ianto flinched at the sound and slid down in his seat, even though he knew the tinted glass of the SUV's windows was shielding them from the furious faces of the two drivers. The scream of damaged metal seemed to go on for minutes but, after what was in reality a few seconds, the SUV had forced a gap large enough to shove through. Jack slammed the SUV into low gear and, with a howl of tortured engine, accelerated between the two cars and up onto the wide pavement beyond, swinging the vehicle around and narrowly avoiding two teenagers who had been watching Jack's antics with undisguised glee.

“Pavement, not road,” Gwen spluttered, too taken aback to say anything more coherent.

“Who needs roads?” Jack asked as he accelerated along the pavement, sending pedestrians scurrying for the cover of shop doorways. Over Jack's shoulder Ianto watched the speedometer. Thirty miles an hour. Forty. Fifty. Sixty. Ianto could see the junction approaching, the corner of the pavement bounded by metal railings.

“Jack!” he warned, trying not to let the fear show in his voice.

Jack just smiled more broadly, showing gleaming white teeth, and slammed on the brakes. Ianto and Gwen catapulted forwards. Gwen managed to brace her hands on the dashboard, but Ianto was caught across the chest by the snap of his seatbelt pulling taut, knocking the wind out of him. He gave an audible oomph of pain.

“Sorry,” Jack apologised, with a wince of sympathy. The expression on his face, though, suggested he was loving every second of the ride.

As the Range Rover slowed sharply, Jack grabbed the handbrake and pulled up. Its brakes locked, the car slid along the pavement, the back end kicking out so that it slewed around the tight left turn. With a screech of metal, the rear bumper collided with the metal railings. Ianto winced. The garage bill was going to be a killer this month. The thought barely had time to form in his mind when there was a loud bang and Ianto saw a metal rubbish bin fly up over the bonnet and out of sight.

“Oops,” Jack called. “My bad.”

Ahead Ianto caught sight of salvation: an end to the railings and an open road.

Jack hit the accelerator and the SUV flew off the pavement, landing on the road with a thud and squeal of tires. Curiously, the cars here were doing their best to get off the road, pulling close to the kerb as he approached, as though black SUV was an ambulance on a mercy mission. With a cry of victory, Jack sailed past them into the suburbs of Cardiff and Penarth.

The remainder of the journey took just fifteen minutes as Jack floored the accelerator, throwing the Ranger Rover down the suburban streets with scant consideration for anything coming in the opposite direction. Ianto saw little of Jack's driving antics, his eyes fixed on the LCD screen displaying data from the Hub, but, judging by the number of sharply indrawn breaths emanating from Gwen's seat, there had been more than a few near-misses. Every so often he raised his head to look at Jack's profile. The defined angles of his jaw radiated tension, his eyes unwavering, fixed on the road ahead. But it was his silence that spoke to Ianto the most. This time, even though no more dangerous and probably a lot less of a real threat than what they had faced in the past, this time Jack Harkness was scared.

-o0o-

_Forty minutes ago..._

“OK, Jack, we don't need to go to the main club house,” Ianto directed as they turned off the main road into Dinas Powys. Constantly threatened with being swallowed into the ever expanding conurbations of Barry, Penarth and Cardiff, it still somehow managed to retain a sense of being a country village. “The flare came from somewhere on the 8th hole. According to the map, there’s a farm access road cutting through the golf course that should give us direct access to the top of the 8th fairway. You need to take a left on Britway Road, coming up on your left in about two hundred metres. Then it's the first right.”

Jack nodded his understanding, turning the SUV into the housing estate. Annoyingly, he had to slow to a mere crawl as he picked his way between the parked cars lining the road. Torchwood might be able to foot the bill for the two cars he'd wrecked in Cardiff, but a whole streetful? Ianto might baulk at that one.

Gwen pulled out her mobile and dialled.

“Andy, it's Gwen. Change of plan. We're not coming to you; we're going straight to the 8th fairway. That's where we think the threat is.” There was a short pause and Ianto could hear Andy Davidson babbling excitedly at the other end of the phone. Gwen sighed. “No, don't come. I need you to stay there and keep everyone out of our way. You've seen how these things can go. I'll let you know when everything is clear.” She snapped the phone shut, cutting Andy off in mid-protest. Ianto was about to make a comment when Gwen dialled the phone again. This time when it was answered, her voice was a lot softer.

“Rhys, love? Yeah, we're on the move. Can you get yourself up to...” She paused, turning to face Ianto. “Ianto what's the access road called?”

Ianto frowned slightly but said “Twyncyn,”

“Rhys, I need you to go to Twyncyn. It's not far from the golf club, have you got it?” There was a longer pause. “Great. Look, wait for my signal before coming in. I don't want anything to happen to you.” There was a further pause, then Gwen smiled with sudden affection. “All right, I don't want you getting in my way,” she teased. Then her voice dropped, low and serious. “I love you.” She smiled again at Rhys' reply, snapping her phone shut once more and looking out of the window for a moment as she composed herself.

“Er... Rhys?” Jack asked, breaking his self-imposed solitude through sheer curiosity. “Forgive me, but can I ask why Mr Gwen Cooper is suddenly involved?” As he spoke he turned into Twyncyn, facing a new obstacle course of parked cars.

Gwen gave Jack a sideways look that made him feel about two years old. It was what he termed her 'school ma’am' look, one she reserved for those occasions when someone was being deliberately obtuse. Apart from Rhys, Jack seemed to be the most frequent recipient.

“And how exactly did you think we were going to get the Mericae back to the Hub when we caught it? Size of a cow, you said. I can't see it fitting in the back seat next to Ianto, can you?” Her tone was scathing.

Ianto was about to protest that on the return trip he was sitting in the front, but Gwen hadn't finished.

“Rhys has one of the small Harwoods trucks on standby,” she continued smoothly. “A nice, dark, UV-free truck. I can go back to the Hub with Rhys and the Mericae, and you and Ianto can drive back in the SUV, which means I won't have to deal with the appalling level of loved-up togetherness you two are exuding at the moment. God, it's like being in an all-male Mills and Boon epic!”

Ianto gave an involuntary snort of laughter and even Jack's lips curled up at the corners.

“It's not that bad,” Jack protested.

“Oh, yes, it is.” Gwen countered. “I'd tell you to get a room, but you'd probably decide the SUV qualified and some unsuspecting passer-by would be subjected to what I saw yesterday morning.” It was the first time she had actually admitted what she had seen the previous day.

“You peeked!” Jack said accusing.

“Yes, I did!” Gwen agreed with a smirk. “It was...educational.”

-o0o-

_Thirty minutes ago..._

Jack slowed as they reached the end of the residential street, looking questioningly back at Ianto for further directions. With one hand, Ianto indicated a narrow tarmac road that swept away from the houses and up through some trees. Jack accelerated up the narrow road bordered by a stone wall on the left side and trees on the right. The wall gave way to open fields, then trees encroached. Soon they were driving in deep shade down a tunnel of trees, the leaf-laden branches meeting overhead so that only the occasional shaft of light broke through onto the road.

After three-quarters of a mile, Ianto gave a shout. “Here on the left.”

Ahead of them was a small break in the trees at either side of the road. A path from one side of the golf course through to the isolated 8th fairway. Jack swung the Range Rover through the left hand gap, its wheels bumping over uneven ground littered with stones. Not for the first time, Ianto was glad that he had personally overseen the modifications to the Range Rover's suspension. After a moment they emerged onto the sunlit expanse of the 8th fairway. Ahead of them, bounded by trees on both sides, an expanse of grassland fell away from them in a broad left-hand sweep down towards the 8th hole. Immediately in front of them the ground had been left rough and relatively untended and, to either side where the grass gave way to the trees, there were similar sections of long grass and scrub land. In the centre however, where the ground flattened out, there was a vast expanse of smooth well-tended grass. Not putting green standard but crossed by neat vertical lines which spoke of a recent mowing. It was actually quite beautiful, Gwen thought, looking down the hill. Somewhere out there was an invisible alien. At least she hoped there was. It was a vast piece of ground. How on earth were they going to find it? It seemed impossible.

“Ianto,” Jack asked, looking at the view with a similar sense of dismay. “Do we have anything more concrete than 'the 8th fairway'?” His unease and the impossibility of the task before them made his voice harsh.

“I can tell you where the spike was to within 100 metres. I'm not getting any indications that the Mericae has moved out of this general area.” He shrugged. “I guess we start there and hope.” Ianto kept his voice level, refusing to rise to Jack's obvious ire.

“Where then?” Jack snapped impatiently.

“Down there on the main fairway, about twenty metres from the end of the rough. Drive. I'll tell you when to stop.”

Jack put the SUV in gear and set off down the slope at speed, oblivious to the bouncing and rocking of the car and its passengers.

“Stop!” yelled Ianto after a moment.

Jack braked sharply, bringing the Range Rover to a shuddering stop, tyres tearing metre long gouges into the pristine surface of the fairway. He killed the engine and sprang down from the driver's side, eyes alert. He looked apprehensively at the sky. A blanket of white clouds still covered the sun, stretching out in all directions as far as the horizon. That was one thing still in their favour at least, but it was only a matter of time before the sun broke through the cloud cover, bathing the fairway in bright sunlight. They had to find the Mericae. Fast. Stepping away from the bulk of the car, Jack turned a slow pirouette on one foot, his eyes expertly scanning the fairway, looking for any slight distortion of light or perspective that might give away the crystalline structure of the Mericae. Nothing.

By the time Jack had completed a full circuit, Ianto had clambered down from the car and was following Jack's eyes around the fairway. Finally his eyes returned to the SUV and the damage it had inflicted during its precipitous stop. “The groundsman will not be happy,” Ianto commented dryly, critically eyeing up the twin black scars of churned earth. “Do you know how long it takes to get grass looking like that?”

Jack glanced at the damage but looked supremely unconcerned. “He can sue me,” he said dismissively. His eyes, constantly flitting back and forth, were wild, desperate to get some kind of fix on which direction danger was coming. He hated this, this open ground. It was too exposed. There was nowhere to hide. The trees were fifty metres away, viable cover if you were being chased by an enemy you could see. No bloody use at all if what you were up against was a glorified cow with a death ray.

“Ianto, you getting anything?” he asked urgently, trying not to let the panic he felt be heard in his voice.

“Nothing.” His voice was tight with exasperation. He jabbed impatiently at the screen of his PDA, willing the scrolling numbers to resolve themselves into a definite fix. “It's here. I'm sure of it. Somewhere in a one hundred metre radius of our position. That's as precise as I can be.”

“Jesus, we're right on top of it. I could be stood right next to the damn thing. Gwen, how far apart can we set those lights up? Can we cover the whole area in a single sweep?”

“Twenty metres tops. It's not far enough,” Gwen called, her voice muffled by the back of the SUV where she was single-handedly trying to unpack the lights from the boot. She straightened, her eyes glaring at the pair. “A little help would be good here,” she snapped, her own frustration and unease making her voice sharp.

“Sorry!” Ianto pocketed his PDA and dashed round the back of the SUV, grabbing one end of a lighting rig and lowering it to the ground. In a moment, all four vertical rigs stood side by side on the manicured grass.

“Now what?” Gwen asked, looking expectantly at Jack. He didn't respond, still turning slowly on the spot, eyes fixed on the landscape.

“Jack?” Ianto called sharply. Jack spun to face him, his expression terrified. Ianto saw Gwen frown as she saw Jack's unusual state of panic. He hurried over to Jack, putting himself between Jack's panicked and Gwen's curious expressions.

“Pull yourself together, cariad,” he hissed, his voice low enough so Gwen couldn’t hear. “Otherwise I'm going to die.” It was harsh, and deliberately so. Jack's eyes snapped to Ianto's, suddenly focused, and he nodded mutely. He stepped past Ianto towards Gwen, clapping his hands once and rubbing them together as if relishing the challenge ahead. It was a deliberate act of confidence, a show just for Gwen. Maybe if she believed they could do this, he could too.

“Right. Gwen, Ianto, we'll work outwards in a standard grid search pattern. Set up the lights in 20 meter squares, pointing in towards the centre. Keep your eyes and ears open. If you see the slightest hint of a distortion or a flash, even if you think it's just a trick of the light, throw yourself to the ground. Keep your face hidden.” Jack's face was solemn, his eyebrows drawing together as he willed these two people he loved to understand. “I mean it guys. You see a leaf move, you hit the deck.”

Gwen nodded earnestly. Ianto kept his face carefully neutral.

“One more thing,” Jack added with a grin that was almost genuine. “If you happen to trip over the Mericae on your travels, holler. It won't release just because you accidentally kicked it in the pseudopod.”

-o0o-

_Twenty minutes ago..._

Gwen grabbed one of the lighting rigs and paced out twenty meters to the right of the SUV and placed it on the ground, grimacing as it teetered gently. These things had been made to stand on the smooth tiled floor of a tanning salon, not the uneven surface of the 8th fairway. After a few anxious moments it steadied, and, with a sigh of relief, Gwen walked back to the SUV unspooling a reel of cable as she did so.

By the SUV Ianto had set up a second rig on alignment with the first and was now plugging the end of a cable into a device unlike anything Gwen had ever seen. The box had softly rounded edges and was coated in a mother-of-pearl-like substance that seemed to glow a soft blue-green. All across the surface were shallow depressions. Down one side ran a series of small sucker-like protrusions, each with a small hole in the centre.

“What the hell is that?” she asked, handing Ianto the cable from her set of lights. Taking the cable, which ended in three bare wires, he fed the short stretches of copper into one of sucker like protuberances. The cable seemed to be sucked in a centimetre or so. A soft low-pitched hum emanated from the box.

“Not a clue,” Ianto answered honestly. “It was listed in the archives as, I quote, 'An alien power source thingy, compatible with Earth electrical equipment'. There was also an additional note – 'could be handy when the Millennium bug hits'. Obviously this was before my time. I recognised the handwriting as Jack's.” Ianto smirked as Jack came round the corner of the SUV bearing the cable from the third and fourth lighting rigs.

“What?” he asked defensively, seeing Ianto and Gwen's amused faces. Then his eyes fell on the device. “Oh, the alien power source thingy, good call. I should have remembered about that.” Gwen gave a snort of laughter, quickly stifled.

“Are we ready to go?” Jack frowned at her, then became all business. “Take cover behind the SUV,” he ordered tersely. “Gwen, be ready with the capsule cell.” Gwen and Ianto moved to the far side of the SUV ducking down below window level. Jack plugged the final two cables into the alien power source and activated it, pressing his fingers into a seemingly random pattern of the depressions. The low hum from the machine increased in pitch. Instantly he saw the bulbs in the nearest lighting rig begin to glow blue. Glancing across, he saw that all four rigs were now emitting a harsh icy-blue light, flooding the centre of the square with UV light. Unlike the sun, there was no heat attached to the light, but Jack knew he was going to come away today with one hell of a sun tan.

“Anything?” Ianto's voice piped up from below. Jack spared a glance down to where his lover was crouched, a nervous set to his features.

“Not yet. I'm going to give it a few minutes. We know it discharged not long ago. Maybe it needs longer than we thought to recharge.”

They stood in silence for two minutes, listening to birdsong, the hum of the power source, and the persistent buzzing of the lights. Then, with a huff of disappointment, Jack jabbed at the alien device, killing the power.

“Next square,” he said shortly, yanking out the cables, and stalking off to reposition the lighting rigs furthest from the SUV. Ianto and Gwen stood up, looking at one another. The plan had seemed so easy when they’d discussed it last night. Three sentences and the Mericae was, in their minds, already locked down tight in the Hub's lower levels whilst they figured out how to get it off the Earth for good. Now it looked like they were in for a long, frustrating day with the ever present threat of getting their faces burnt off by a giant crystal.

“This is turning into a bitch of a day,” Gwen commented sourly, holding up a lank strand of dark hair, made greasy by the oppressive heat and humidity. “Why do I get the feeling a shower is a long way off? At least Rhys has air-con while he waits.”

-o0o-

_Ten minutes ago..._

Ianto watched Jack reposition the lights at the furthest corners of the next square. It was obvious what Jack was doing. He might have let Ianto come on this mission, Ianto hadn't exactly given him a choice, but he was doing his best to keep Ianto out of harm’s way, close to the SUV where there was some protection from a random blast. To be fair to Jack, he was applying the same protection to Gwen. It should have made Ianto feel safe but, for some unfathomable reason he knew was completely unreasonable, it just made him feel smothered. He didn't want to be someone on whom Jack always had to keep an eye, someone who would make Jack's brow crease with worry as often as it crinkled with a smile. He wasn't a child. With a sigh he got into the SUV, starting the engine and rolling it a few more yards across the grass to the bottom corner of the next square. He climbed out just as Jack returned to the SUV, cables in hand.

“I know what you're doing Jack,” he muttered as soon as Jack was in earshot, wincing as he realised how petulant he sounded, just like the child he was trying to claim not to be.

“I know you do,” Jack smiled understandingly. He wasn't blind to Ianto's frustration at his protectiveness. “Humour me. It's for my benefit, not yours.”

They both knew it was a lie, or, if not a lie, then at least a distortion of the truth, but it made Ianto feel better. He returned Jack's smile.

“Mother hen,” he teased affectionately. Before Jack could reply Gwen was beside them, the other two cables in hand.

“Problem?” she asked, taking in their lack of activity and doing her best to ignore the goofy smiles. Despite her joking words earlier, she couldn't handle all this lovey-dovey happiness. Quite frankly it was beginning to creep her out. It just wasn't Torchwood, or Jack. And definitely not Ianto.

“No,” Jack turned his kilowatt smile in her direction, “just discussing some of my more irritating attributes.”

“I'll come back in an hour then,” Gwen said cheekily. “Or should I make that two?” She directed the final aside to Ianto, who looked thoughtful for a moment and then nodded cheerfully.

“Enough,” Jack said sharply, although he was grinning widely and looked to be rather enjoying the exchange. “Mericae anyone?”

“You started it,” Gwen commented flippantly, earning herself a raised eyebrow from Ianto. She handed the cables to Jack. “Be my guest.”

Jack went round to the rear of the SUV while Gwen and Ianto took up their crouching positions behind it. After a moment, there was a hum as the blue lights flared into life one more. Nothing.

Ianto stood up.

“You know,” he said flatly, “this plan is total bollocks.”

Gwen stood up beside him, looking affronted. Ianto added hurriedly, “I mean, it was a good plan when we thought of it. When we had some idea exactly where the Mericae would be. Now it's the equivalent of throwing a camera in the sea and expecting to take a picture of Atlantis. Utterly impossible. And let's not forget, all the time we spend out here, that thing is absorbing the natural UV, even without the sun. We have no idea how long it will be before it discharges again. We're sitting ducks out here. We need to change our tactics.”

“What do you suggest?” The affronted look had left Gwen's face as she acknowledged the truth of his words, but there was an edge to her question.

“We sit in the car and wait for it to discharge. Once we've pinpointed its location we can revert back to the original plan.”

“We sit in the car?” Gwen parroted, her scepticism plain.

“Look, we know it's here somewhere,” Ianto pointed out. “Even with all the UV we've been pouring out into this area, the scanner still thinks it's here.” He waved the PDA under Gwen's nose, though it was moving too fast for her to see what it said. “What have we got to lose?”

“I think it's a dumb idea,” she said sourly. “We could be sat here for hours.”

“In a nice, cool, air-conditioned car,” Ianto commented, “rather than lugging thirty kilogram lighting rigs up and down a golf course in twenty-five degree heat.”

They looked at Jack, who had been watching them silently throughout this exchange, for adjudication.

“I say we go with Ianto's plan,” he decided finally. “Face it Gwen, we're just whistling in the wind here.” Gwen huffed her displeasure but didn't reply, instead stalking off to retrieve one of the lighting rigs.

-o0o-

_One minute ago..._

“I don't think she's happy,” Ianto said softly, his lips twisting in a wry grin.

“You think? She probably thinks that now we're...well... together, I'm going to take your side over hers every time,” Jack said, looking fondly after Gwen's retreating figure.

“And will you?” Ianto asked, still reeling from the fact that Jack had actually admitted that they were 'together'.

“Absolutely not. I believe in utter fairness. Share and share alike.” He caught Ianto's accusing eye. “Except in that department. As far as that goes, I'm all yours.”

“Glad to hear it,” Ianto managed, trying not to grin like the proverbial Cheshire cat. He felt himself flush at Jack's amused gaze. “I'll... go give Gwen a hand,” he stammered, heading out towards the other distant lighting rig.

For just an instant, Jack stood still, trying and failing to keep a stupid grin from his own face. Then, as his gaze focused on his blue shirt sticking loosely to Ianto's back, the grin slid from his face. Ianto was moving away from him. Two metres. Three. Five. Ten. And Jack began to run. He tried to call out, but his mouth was dry, unable to form the words. The warning. Because somehow, he knew. This was the moment, here in this corridor of trees, that Ianto would die.

Ianto heard the pounding of Jack's feet and turned to face him at the same moment that Gwen looked up from where she was struggling with the lights, so they both saw it: the slight distortion, the shimmer that could so easily have been heat haze but wasn't. Just a few yards away from Ianto. And even though the blast could conceivably go in any direction, Ianto knew it was coming for him. He wanted to close his eyes, so that he wouldn't see the world flare into nothingness, but he couldn't tear his gaze from Jack, face drained of colour, eyes wild with fear and desperation.

Then the shimmer vanished and the light came.

-o0o-

Jack saw the shimmer. He knew he wasn't going to make it. His eyes met Ianto's, reading there the sadness of lost opportunities and unspoken words. And as he saw Ianto steel himself for death, setting his shoulders against what was to come, Jack's grief and fear were replaced by rage. Rage against the universe he was unable to control. Rage against a universe seemingly intent on ripping away everything and everyone he'd ever cared about. He felt angry tears, hot on his cheeks. No! Not this time! With a hoarse cry he launched himself forward, arms outstretched like a goalie determined to deflect a ball, twisting and arching his body, trying to put himself between the shimmer and Ianto.

-o0o-

The light took him square in the chest. It flowed over and around him and for an instant he vanished in a blinding halo of utter whiteness. Just as suddenly, the glare faded. Jack seemed to hang in the air, looking for all the world like a broken marionette suspended by tangled strings, his arms and legs skewed at unnatural angles. Then slowly, soundlessly, he crumpled to the ground.

Through weeping eyes, Jack saw the searing white light flash, blinding him, burning away the tears. He stumbled, instinctively closing his eyes tight and drawing his hand up to try and block some of the intense light. Even through his eyelids he could see the flare, as blazing and undimmed as if his eyelids had already been burned away. Somewhere behind him, he heard Ianto cry out, a shrill scream of anguish, cut short, leaving nothing but the sounds of his own ragged breaths roaring in his ears. Terrified, he opened his mouth to call out, but the light, now scalding hot, burned away his vocal chords with his first breath, leaving him dumb and coughing. Jack could feel the skin on his face and hands blister and split in the heat, carrying the sickening smell of cooked flesh to his nostrils. With horror he realised that it was his own flesh he could smell burning.

In that instant, the flare vanished, leaving only a greenish negative starburst image imprinted on his retina. The roaring sound died away, replaced by an eerie silence, itself so loud that his ears rang with the absence of sound.

With Herculean effort, Jack forced open what was left of his eyes. A milky white version of the world met his eyes, devoid of colour. A palette of black, white and grey ill-defined shapes. His gaze continued its journey, sliding down to the dark grey grass at his feet. A wave of blinding panic overwhelmed him; he began to shake uncontrollably, his knees collapsing beneath him. He fell forward onto his raw, bleeding hands, his arms buckling as he tried to support himself, leaving him face down on the cool grass. Jack moaned in pain as the exposed nerve endings on his flayed cheeks and forehead screamed in protest at the contact. In agony, Jack tried to lift his head, to raise himself, but the muscles in his arms and neck wouldn't respond. He'd felt his life leaching away enough times before to recognise that death was only moments away.

He'd failed. He'd failed Ianto. He'd failed Gwen.

He heard a noise, the raw, high-pitched keening of an animal in pain. He could no longer tell if the noise was coming from his own seared throat. With his last ounce of strength, he managed to turn his head. He saw feet encased in black leather boots running towards him. Gwen.

But where was Ianto? Before death took him, he needed to see his lover, to see how badly he had failed him.

Blackness encroached on the edges of his world, a dark tide steadily claiming his vision. Jack's breath seized in his chest, his lungs filling with fluid. He felt his heart slow, each fading beat hammering home his failure and despair.

As oblivion claimed him, Jack's final thought was a desperate plea that this time he would be allowed to die. To put an end to his suffering. To join Ianto in eternity.


	12. Chapter 12

Jack wasn't going to make it. Gwen knew the instant she saw him running towards Ianto as though pursued by the hounds of hell. He was twenty metres away. And Ianto was just staring at him. Staring at Jack and that shimmer. Why are you just standing there? Gwen thought desperately. Hit the floor. That was what Jack had said. Hit the floor if so much as a leaf moved. And this was a goddamned shimmer. It was the Mericae and Ianto was directly in the firing line. If he didn't move he would die. She would lose another friend. Why won't you move? No. No way. She was not losing Ianto. Not today. Not ever. She was closer than Jack, ten metres closer. If she was lucky, very, very, lucky...

She began to run, her own hounds of hell in hot pursuit.

The distance between them dropped away. Gwen kept her eyes fixed on Ianto's motionless form. To her left, from the corner of one eye she could see Jack, still desperately trying to reach Ianto's side. He hadn't seen her; he didn't have eyes for anyone but Ianto. Suddenly she saw the shimmer give way to a flash of bright light, scorching white. At the same moment she saw Jack launch himself between the flash and Ianto. Instinctively she dived, arms outstretched, and rugby-tackled Ianto, slamming into his back, arms wrapped around his waist, sending them both crashing to the ground in a tangle of limbs. Immediately she rolled to one side, coming to rest beside the young man, one arm stretched across his back, pinning him to the ground. Then she flung her other arm over his head, pushing his face into the grass, burying her own face into his shoulder as the searing blast of UV radiation passed harmlessly over their heads.

Beside her, Gwen could hear Ianto moaning Jack's name over and over in a broken voice. Suddenly he gave a start, pushing his shoulders up, trying to break free. She pushed down. Hard.

“Stay down, you bloody idiot,” she hissed, feeling the intense heat of the UV across her own shoulders. “He'll be fine.” He wouldn't, of course. She knew she was lying, spouting meaningless platitudes. As she crashed into Ianto, she had seen the light envelop Jack. He had taken the full force of the blast. Face on. To save Ianto.

Gwen didn't know whether Ianto believed her lie, or whether he had admitted defeat, knowing that it was too late to save his lover, but for whatever reason Ianto had stopped struggling. The only sign of life was Jack's name, still falling in a constant monotone from his lips. At least he was alive.

At the thought, Gwen's stomach heaved. It had been so close. Even through her closed eyes she felt the world spin around her. She found herself gulping for air in a desperate attempt not to faint.

After what seemed like an eternity, but in reality couldn't have been more than a few seconds, Gwen felt the heat across her back dissipate, until all that remained was the damp, oppressive warmth of the day. Cautiously she opened one eye, looking up tentatively. All she saw was the bright white blankness of clouds. It was over. She rolled away from Ianto until she lay on her back looking up at the sky, waiting for her breath to steady. It was over, but not for long. Even now she could see the misty orb of the sun finally beginning to break through the cloud cover. It wouldn't take long for the Mericae to recharge.

Gwen sat up slowly, taking a couple of calming deep breaths before scrambling to her feet. The plan. She had to stick to the plan. She knew where the Mericae was now. All she had to do was deploy the capsule cell. She could do the rest on her own, couldn't she? She glanced at Ianto, still motionless on the grass. Why was he still lying there? She'd never seen him fall apart like this. Not ever. Not even with Lisa, and that had been the worst. Was this what loving Jack did to you?

Jack! Oh, god. Where was Jack? She spun around, all thoughts of the Mericae forgotten. Her eyes fell on the hunched figure of Jack curled in a ball on the pristine fairway grass. As she watched, he turned his face towards her. It was unrecognisable, a bloody pulp. With a cry of horror, she began to run towards him. Even as she reached him, she saw his body slump, the last remaining spark of awareness leaving his eyes.

Gwen fell to her knees beside Jack's now prostrate body. She knew he was dead. One glance at the bloody blistered mess of his once perfect face, and the white milky eyes fixing her with a sightless stare, left her in no doubt that he was dead. But she had to touch, to feel the absence of his pulse beneath her fingers to believe it. She rolled the body over, swallowing hard at the sight of charred material fused to flesh around what was left of his neck and throat. Her fingers hovered over his throat but there didn't seem to be anywhere left to press. After a long moment she reached down and carefully raised one wrist instead, clasping her fingers around skin that was red and burnt but still essentially intact. She counted. Nothing.

As she counted, she became aware that the silence of the fairway had been broken by the low, piteous, keening wail of a soul in torment. She kept her eyes focused on Jack's wrist. She didn't need to look to know what, or rather who, was making that sound. It could only come from Ianto. When she finally raised her head, she found Ianto exactly where she had left him, only now he was sitting up, his knees were drawn up high in front of him, clasped tight by one arm, his other hand balled in a fist and jammed in his mouth, smothering a scream. He rocked backwards and forwards, his eyes fixed unwaveringly on Jack's body.

“Ianto,” she said gently, not wanting to startle him. One wrong word and the scream he was fighting so hard to keep suppressed would be unleashed in all its torment. “This is Jack, remember. He'll come back to us. To you.” Gwen swallowed. Looking at Jack now it was hard to believe he could survive this. She couldn't remember seeing his body so badly damaged before. All the gun shots, stab wounds and Weevil bites seemed like mere scratches by comparison. “It'll just take time. Time for him to heal. Time for him to come back to us.”

Ianto didn't appear to have heard her. Still rocking back and forth, his face was now white, and there was a clammy sheen to his skin. Gwen saw his shoulders shake with an involuntary shiver. He was in shock, she realised, and full-blown shock at that. She remembered snatches from the police first-aid training video. Shock was a killer. If she didn't do something to snap Ianto out of it soon, he would die, just as surely as if he'd been hit by the UV blast in the first place.

“Ianto!” Gwen commanded, forcing her voice to sound harsh and strident. “On your feet. We still have to catch this thing,”

Ianto stilled, looking up at the sound of her voice, but his eyes were dead, not really seeing her.

“Go away,” he said dully, his eyes returning to Jack. “Before I get you killed too.” The rocking began again. Gwen could see waves of shivers wracking his body. He was shutting down and she was running out of time. A few more minutes and his organs would begin to fail. She bit her lip and took a deep breath, hating what she was about to do.

“Get off your fucking arse, tea boy!” Gwen yelled, her voice filled with contempt. “God, you're a sad fuck. I can't imagine what Jack sees in you. You're useless. Look at you, sat pining over someone who'll be bouncing around again in a matter of hours. It's fucking pathetic. He'd have been much better off with me...” There was movement at her feet.

“Fuck you, Gwen Cooper,” Ianto shouted, jumping to his feet. His face was angry and red, the shivers transformed into ones of anger. “Jack wouldn't fucking touch you in a million years...” His voice faded away uncertainly as he saw Gwen grinning at him, her eyes teary. She took two steps towards him, pulling him into a fierce hug.

“Don't you ever scare the crap out of me like that again, Ianto Jones,” she choked into his hair. “I'm sorry I had to say those things...you know I didn't mean them, right?” The apology was a mumbled plea for understanding and forgiveness.

After a moment, Ianto awkwardly returned the hug.

“I know,” he reassured her. “I'm sorry too. I didn't mean what I said,” he continued with mounting embarrassment.

“Yes, you did.” Gwen said, with a soft understanding smile. “And you're right, Jack wouldn't touch me in a million years. Not as long as you and Rhys are around, at least. I know my place, and that's with Rhys. You don't have anything to fear from me.”

“But you do love Jack?” Ianto asked, finally putting into words the question that had hung between them for so long.

“I won't lie to you. I did, for a while,” Gwen confessed. “And I almost threw everything with Rhys away because of it. But I realised I could never be to Jack what you clearly are...”

“And what's that? A fuck buddy?” Ianto didn't know why he said it. The obscenity felt wrong on his tongue. He knew he and Jack were more than that, he just couldn't put a name to it. Lovers? Certainly. Partners? Maybe. A couple? A horrid label, best consigned to oblivion. Boyfriends? Almost as bad.

Gwen looked shocked, and Ianto knew it wasn't because of the swearing.

“You don't mean that? Do you?”

“No,” Ianto admitted, “but honestly, Gwen, I don't know what Jack and I are.”

“You're soulmates, Ianto,” she said simply.

It was Ianto's turn to looked shocked. “Soulmates?” he repeated disbelievingly. “Are there such things?”

“In yours and Jack's case, clearly there are. That's why I couldn't ever be a threat to you. There are some things you just don't mess with.” She grinned. “And now we really need to find that Mericae thing before it discharges again.”

Ianto blinked at the sudden change in topic, but looked past Gwen at Jack's lifeless body. “I killed him you know,” he said flatly.

“No, you didn't,” Gwen said patiently. “The Mericae did. And I'm sure you have a million arguments as to why it's still your fault...” Gwen moved, obscuring Ianto's line of sight to Jack, and looked him straight in the eye. “And later I'll listen and try to talk you out of them. Right now, though, please, can it wait until we have that creature trussed up good and tight and out of harm’s way?”

Ianto managed a dry smile, cocking his head to one side. “Were you always this bossy, or has Torchwood made you this way?”

“I have always been this bossy, just ask Rhys. Which reminds me...” Gwen fished her mobile from out of her jeans pocket and dialled. After a moment, Ianto heard Rhys' anxious voice on the other end of the line, oddly tinny in the silence.

Gwen let him talk for a moment and then interrupted. “I'm fine, love. Yes, honestly. Look, love, give us fifteen minutes, then bring up the truck. Take a left through the clearing and you'll see us on the fairway. We'll be the ones with the invisible monster.” She snorted a laugh and hung up.

“So, what's the plan now?” Ianto asked, now trying to avoid looking at Jack. The scream was still bubbling so near to the surface, burning his throat, and every glance at Jack's burned, shattered body brought it closer to his lips. He swallowed hard, forcing it down. He couldn't afford to fall apart again now. Gwen needed him. She might not have put it into words, she might even have shared a laugh with Rhys, but her eyes were frightened. He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. She was frightened. He'd failed Jack already today, and. he wasn't about to let himself fail Gwen as well.

“Plan B,” Gwen answered grimly, striding across to the SUV. She flung open the passenger door and started rummaging around in the footwell.

Ianto’s eyes followed her curiously from where he stood. “Plan B?” he queried. “I didn't know we had a plan B.”

“I always have a plan B,” Gwen countered. She gave a small cry of triumph and pulled free what, to Ianto, looked like a white plastic bucket. Pulling a key from her pocket she started to pry off the lid.

“What's that?”

“Jasmine Silk,” Gwen replied as the lid finally came free. She picked up the bucket and carried it over to where Ianto stood. She turned and faced outward, her back to Ianto and Jack. “I should duck now,” she said. Giving him a knowing nod, she hoisted the bucket high above her head with both hands. Ianto took one look at the bucket and the determined set of Gwen's features, and hit the ground.

With all the strength she could muster, Gwen brought the bucket round in a long, sweeping arc. A thick, pale creamy-yellow liquid, looking for all the world like cold congealed custard, sprayed out from the rim of the bucket, splattering across the dark green grass. Except in one location. Five metres in front of Jack's body, the yellow liquid never made it to the ground. Instead it clung crazily in mid-air, running slowly down unseen facets, picking out edges and crevices before finally dripping to the ground.

Gwen made a second sweep, and a second viscous trail of liquid landed and oozed down the previously-unseen Mericae. Gwen sat the bucket on the grass and turned to Ianto, eyes shining.

“Plan B,” she announced smugly.

“Jasmine Silk?” Ianto deadpanned, although his lips were twitching with suppressed laughter.

“What?” Gwen looked affronted. “I was touching up the hallway. We're selling the flat. Anyway it could have been worse.” She raised her eyebrows and shot him a cheeky glance. “It could have been Magnolia”.

Ianto looked at the paint dripping down the creature. Clearly magnolia was going under a whole new set of names these days, including Jasmine Silk. He shook his head. Why ruin the moment? There would be plenty of time to tease later...

“So, what did we do with the capsule cell?” he said.

“Here.” Gwen tossed him a small disc-shaped object. “Like to do the honours?”

“God, yes,” he replied.

“Be careful. It still might go off again,” Gwen warned, casting a wary eye at the paint-smeared creature.

“If it does, there isn't a right lot I can do about it,” Ianto said philosophically with a small smile. Remembering Jack’s orders, he cautiously stepped forward, hunching over and staying as near to the ground as he could manage. Better late than never, he thought sadly. After a few steps, he was in touching distance of the creature, and he carefully and precisely laid the disc-shaped object at the foot of the Mericae, just touching the yellow-smeared crystal. He fingered a small protuberance on the disc's edge and pulled back hastily, as a curtain of crackling blue energy flowed up and around the Mericae, enveloping it. As Ianto watched, the curtain of energy deepened in colour until it was almost black, obscuring the paint-defined lines of the creature.

“That's the UV shielding,” Gwen said. “It's safe now.” She let out a relieved sigh, releasing the breath she hadn’t realised she'd been holding, and sank to the grass wearily, suddenly drained. She looked around her at the paint-splattered grass and barked an abrupt laugh.

"The groundsman really isn't going to be happy now," she commented dryly. There was silence. She turned around, finding Ianto once more crouched over Jack's inert body. He was holding one of Jack's hands between his own and great silent sobs wracked his frame. Gwen leapt to her feet and rushed over to him, collapsing to the ground. She gently circled his heaving shoulders and pulled him to her side, squeezing tightly.

“Ianto, love, he's going to be all right. You know that. This is what Jack does."

Ianto didn't respond, his sobs coming harder and louder. She sat beside him in silence, holding his shoulders with what she hoped was reassurance. After several minutes, Ianto's sobs subsided, replaced by silent tears punctuated by occasional gulps of air. Behind her, Gwen heard the dull rumble of an approaching engine. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw a Harwood's truck pull through the trees onto the rough ground at the top of the fairway. She didn't want Rhys to see Ianto like this, or Jack, for that matter. Rhys had seen a lot of things in his dealings with Torchwood, and more than his fair share of dead bodies, but he'd never witnessed anything on the scale of what was in front of Gwen at that moment. She raised the arm that was clasped around Ianto's shoulders and waved it in the air in a stop motion. Rhys immediately pulled to a halt and switched off the engine, and for the thousandth time Gwen was reminded how lucky she was to have Rhys Williams.

Turning her attention back to the grieving Ianto, she asked, "What's this all about, Ianto?" With some effort, she kept her voice quiet and calm. "You've seen Jack die before, and I've never seen you like this. Please tell me what's wrong. I can't help you if I don't know what's wrong."

Ianto finally raised his eyes, turning his head to look at Gwen. He hiccupped. "It's my fault," he said quietly, so quietly that Gwen had to strain to hear him.

"Ianto, love," Gwen reasoned, "you said that before. It's not your fault. Jack knew what he was doing. Jack always knows what he's doing."

Ianto shook his head vehemently. "Not this time, he didn’t. He wasn't thinking straight. He was trying to save me. He knew what was going to happen."

Gwen frowned, not understanding. "What do you mean?" she said. "How could Jack know? You mean he had a gut feeling?"

"No," Ianto shook his head again. "That wasn't it. Yesterday when we were at Professor Merchant's..." He paused, struggling to find the words. Finally, in a small scared voice, he said, "I promised Jack I wouldn't tell you."

A knot of fear formed in Gwen's stomach. "Tell me what, Ianto? You have to tell me, you know that. We're a team. We don't keep secrets from each other. I'm sure Jack had his reasons, but that was before this happened. You have to tell me now. Jack will understand." There was a long silence. Gwen didn't push it, letting Ianto find his way through his doubts.

Eventually he spoke, his voice still barely audible. "Jack had a vision. Of the Mericae killing me.”

Gwen suppressed the urge to give a snort of disbelief.

"But Ianto, sweetheart," she argued gently. "Jack doesn't believe in visions."

"He believed this one," Ianto said. "He told me he's had them twice before. Always the same. Someone he cares about, in peril, dying a horrible death. And whatever he does to try and change that, it's always come true. He wouldn't give me the details. No, that's not right. I didn't ask him for details about the first two times. He was scared, Gwen. I've never seen him so scared. You know Jack. He can always find a way, no matter what. But this time? It was as though he'd admitted defeat before he'd even left the Hub. He threw himself in front of the Mericae to save me. Because he couldn't find another way. That's why it's my fault."

Gwen was stunned into silence. Pulling her arm free of Ianto, she let it drop into her lap. There was no doubting Ianto's sincerity, nor his belief that Jack had sacrificed himself to save him, and Gwen realised that the fact that Jack was immortal made no absolutely no difference. Even if Jack had had a life to lose, he would have done exactly the same thing. She shook her head in denial, reaching to hug Ianto to her again.

"It's still not your fault, Ianto," she said. "It was still Jack's choice. Nothing you could have done or said would have made any difference." Ianto looked up, meeting her eyes. She was shocked at the bleakness she saw there.

"But don't you see, Gwen, if he hadn't cared for me, he wouldn't have had to make a choice. I put him in danger. I put all of us in danger."

Gwen knew what was coming next. Ianto was going to say that it would be better for all of them if he left the team and removed the distraction. She shook her head. “We're always in danger, Ianto. That's what being in Torchwood means. Your relationship with Jack doesn't alter that. If anything, your relationship makes the team stronger. You've always been the glue that holds Torchwood together...”

“That'll be my coffee,” Ianto said weakly, and Gwen was relieved to see he could still make a joke, even a poor one.

“Maybe, but that coffee kept Owen civil, Tosh brilliant and Jack happy. And let's not underestimate the effect of the threat of decaf...” Gwen waggled her eyebrows at him, remembering her last brush with Ianto’s discipline decaf. “What I'm trying and failing miserably to say is, you make Jack happy. And when Jack's happy, Torchwood works. Without you, there is no reason for Jack to go on with this...” She smiled sadly.

“That's not true,” Ianto protested. “He'd keep going for you.”

“No, he wouldn't,” she argued. “I'm not enough. I have Rhys, and I think Jack would use any excuse to get me out of this life.” The smile grew, if anything, sadder.

As she was speaking, Gwen became aware that Ianto no longer seemed to be paying attention. Instead, he was looking past her, back towards the capsule cell, and the imprisoned Mericae.

“I'm sorry I'm boring you,” she said cuttingly, irritated.

Ianto didn't reply, he didn't even seem to have heard her. As she watched, his expression changed, becoming more horrified with every passing second.

“Gwen, I think we have a problem,” he said slowly, shuffling backward and pointing past her.

Gwen twisted round, her eyes following Ianto's outstretched finger. He was pointing at the Mericae. The curtain of blue-black had faded to a pale blue shimmer, the paint-smeared crystalline form inside clearly visible.

“What the hell is that?” Gwen asked worriedly. “Could the battery be going flat?”

Ianto shook his head. “No. If the specs you showed me are right, it should be good for another hour and a half at least. I think we've got a bigger problem.”

“Which is?”

“Do you remember you suggested the Mericae was capable of absorbing rift energy?” Ianto prompted, with a grim smile.

“Yeah.” Gwen nodded, but the confused look remained on her face.

“Well, I get the feeling that's not the only sort of energy it can absorb...” There was a look of dawning realisation in Gwen's eyes, her gaze fixing on the wavering blue of the steadily depleting shield.

“And what happens when it discharges?” she asked haltingly, dreading the inevitable answer.

“Well,” Ianto said frowning “I'm guessing that, when the energy shield collapses, we get a death ray that makes the previous one look like a bargain basement torch.”

“And if the energy shield doesn't collapse?” Gwen's eyes were hopeful.

“Then the discharged energy will bounce back off the energy shield into the Mericae and we get a very, very, big bang.”

“Ah.”

“Ah, indeed.” Ianto arched an eyebrow meaningfully. “Either way, the last place we want to be right now is here.”

Gwen looked about her for a means of escape, her eyes falling on the Range Rover.

“What about the SUV?” she asked quickly.

Ianto nodded his head towards the glowing capsule cell. “Do you really want to go past that thing? It could go any second.” His voice was hurried, the words running into each other.

As if to give credence to his warning, the blue curtain of light flickered, turning still paler. Gwen bit her lip. “No.”

“Thought not. I think we need to run now.”

Gwen leapt up and set off up the slope at full pelt, away from the capsule cell and towards Rhys in the waiting Harwood's truck. As she ran, she waved her hands at Rhys, gesturing for him to reverse the truck back into the relative safety of the trees.

Behind her, Ianto bent down and grabbed Jack's wrists. The rising tide of fear was making his hands sweat, which mingled with Jack's congealed blood, making his finger's slippery, Jack's wrists falling repeatedly from his grasp. Inch by determined inch he hauled Jack slowly up the fairway, away from the capsule cell.

Gwen was thirty metres ahead before she realised Ianto wasn't at her heels. She slowed and turned to see him still only metres away from the now almost totally transparent energy shield. They couldn't have more than a few seconds left.

“Ianto, what the hell are you doing?” she screamed. “Run!” Inside the capsule cell a white glow began to emanate from the crystalline structure of the Mericae.

“I'm...not…leaving...him...behind,” Ianto panted, as he struggled with Jack's dead weight.

“He's already dead,” Gwen pleaded. “He's not going to get any deader. You have to leave him. Please, Ianto.”

“No!” Ianto yelled angrily. “You go. I'm staying with Jack. I'm not abandoning him!”

Gwen ran back to him grabbing his arms and forcing him to let go of Jack and face her. Tears of fear were streaming down her face, her eyes wild and pleading.

“Ianto, if you stay here you will die. Jack died so you would survive. Are you going to throw that sacrifice back in his face? Because that's what you're doing. If you die now, Jack's death will have been for nothing. And I don't want to be the one to tell him that you're dead because of a misplaced sense of guilt.” He looked blankly at her, her pleas not registering. She couldn't force him to come with her, and she didn't want to die here, not with Rhys looking on. With a sob of frustration, she dropped his arms and walked away, hesitantly at first, but picking up speed with every step.

Ianto blinked, watching Gwen's retreating back. Then he looked down at Jack's body. Lifeless white eyes stared back at him. Oh God. He didn't want his last memory of Jack to be looking into those white orbs. He couldn't. He wanted more than anything to look into their shining blue depths again. To feel Jack's arms around him once more. He bent down and rolled Jack onto his face, hoping the few extra feet and the grass might afford his damaged body some protection.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered. “I love you.” Ianto stood, took one last look at Jack, then he turned and ran.

-o0o-

They were a hundred metres away when it blew. There was a deafening crack, louder than any thunder, as though the very sky had fractured, a beat of silence, and then... Whoomph. The explosion knocked them off their feet, the pressure wave rolling over the fairway, followed swiftly by sweeping winds and blistering heat. Face down in the cool grass, Gwen and Ianto covered their heads as the wind swept over them. They could feel the hairs on the back of their hands singe in the heat, but before doing any real damage, the wind and heat passed, leaving nothing but a strange roaring sound echoing across the golf course.

Ianto rolled onto his back and sat up cautiously, looking down to where the capsule cell stood. A beam of light lanced up into the clouds, the heat burning away the vapour and leaving a perfectly round hole cut into the cloud cover, a white-hot searchlight visible for miles around, even in the bright daylight. The shield had held: the discharged energy had found the weakest point of the energy shield, the apex where the curtains of energy met, and forced its way out.

Eyes dazzled, Ianto shielded them with one hand, trying to look at the capsule cell itself, but it was like looking at a miniature sun. When he closed his eyes, the image was imprinted on his retina. He felt Gwen's arm pulling on his as she sat up beside him.

“Are you alive?” he heard her ask, the words almost drowned out by the roar of the escaping energy.

“Last time I checked,” he shouted back.

The roaring shut off as though someone had flicked a switch, leaving behind a sudden loud silence the glare fading almost as quickly. After several seconds, Ianto risked opening his eyes once more. The light and the capsule cell had vanished. All that remained was a black crater a metre deep and twenty metres across, centred where the capsule cell once stood. At the edge of the crater, just beyond the black scorching, was Jack's body. Ianto scrambled to his feet and ran down towards the crater, ignoring Gwen's calls to wait.

-o0o-

Ianto fell to his knees besides Jack. Apart from some scorching of the pale blue cotton of Jack's shirt, there didn't appear to be any sign that the explosion had touched him. Ianto carefully rolled Jack's body face up, scrutinising every square centimetre for signs of additional damage. Nothing. In fact, Ianto could detect the beginnings of Jack's rejuvenation. New skin was already showing at the edges of the burns and, most heartening of all, the pale white orbs now showed tinges of faintest blue. Ianto breathed a relieved sigh, sitting back as Gwen came to rest beside him.

“I think he's going to be all right,” he said shakily, pointing at the newly forming skin.

Gwen put a hand on his arm and squeezed reassuringly. “Of course he is. This is our Jack we're talking about. It'll take more than some alien death-ray-spouting cow to keep him down.” She looked over to the crater. “Speaking of the Mericae, what became of our UV-blasting friend?” They both stood and cautiously stepped down into the crater, looking incredulously at the blackened raw earth

“And we thought the groundsman was going to be mad before?” Gwen commented with a snorting laugh. “He's going to have a shit-fit when he sees this. How are we going to explain a twenty metre hole in the ground?”

“Unexploded World War II bomb left over from the bombing of Cardiff that missed its target,” Ianto said confidently, reaching the centre of the crater and crouching down. “Standard cover up for Torchwood-associated explosions. Works equally well for Torchwood One, Three and Four. They had to be a bit more inventive at Two, I believe.”

Really he was amazing, Gwen thought with amusement. Once he was convinced Jack was going to be all right, the usual efficient Ianto Jones, tea boy and fix-it man extraordinaire, was back in business.

“So what have we got?” she asked crouching beside him. She looked past his pointing finger at a circular disc of a black, glassy substance, about the size of a dinner plate. At one end she could just make out the fused remains of what only minutes ago had been a fully functioning capsule cell. She extended a finger to touch the disc but Ianto knocked her hand away.

“It'll still be hot,” he warned. “The temperatures needed to melt a crystal like the Mericae are probably in the hundreds of degrees. I prefer you with five fingers.” He turned and grinned, the first natural smile she'd seen in what seemed like a very long time.

She returned a wide gap-toothed smile and hugged him. “Nice to have you back,” she said. Ianto hugged back.

“Oi, get your hands off my wife!” Rhys called good-naturedly as he strode up. “You all right, love?” His tone, although light, was tinged with worry.

Gwen bolted up and ran to Rhys, wrapping her arms around him and kissing him enthusiastically.

“I'll take that as a yes,” Rhys muttered, red-faced, as he came up for air a full two minutes later. “Where's this Mericae thing, then?”

“It... melted,” Gwen explained sheepishly, pointing to the cooling disc of glass.

Rhys looked at it in confusion, then back over his shoulder at the Harwood's truck parked at the fringe of the trees. “So, you don't need the truck, then?” He looked disappointed. He loved being called up to do 'Torchwood stuff', not that he would ever tell Gwen that. She'd never let him near a case again.

Gwen took in his crest-fallen expression. Rhys was such a big kid, thinking she didn't know how much he loved being involved in her world. It was one of the many reasons she loved him so much. Suddenly it seemed very important that she tell him that, preferably with demonstrations.

“I tell you what, love,” she proposed. “Let me square things with Andy, and then why don't you and your truck give me a hand getting these lights back to the tanning salon? And then we can take the evening off. I think we've earned it. Ianto can get Jack and what's left of the Mericae back to the Hub.” She looked to Ianto for confirmation, and he nodded his assent.

Rhys' face brightened but, at the mention of Jack, his eyes fell to the body laid a few metres away. He'd been aware of it on his way down, but his attention had been focused entirely on reaching his wife. Now, he studied the body with sadness, and some curiosity. It was the first time he'd seen Jack dead. It seemed wrong that they were treating Jack's death so lightly, but neither Ianto nor Gwen seemed overly concerned. Maybe that was what facing death everyday did. Made you unconcerned with its finality. Well, for everyone apart from Jack, of course.

Gwen saw him staring and rushed to reassure him. “He's going to be all right, Rhys. His body is already beginning to repair itself. In a few hours, he'll be as good as new.” Her voice was soft and sincere. “I promise you.”

“Doesn't it scare you that one day he won't come back?” he couldn't help asking, still staring intently at Jack's corpse.

It was Ianto who answered. “It scares me so much I can't breathe. Every single time.”

Rhys looked quickly at Ianto, seeing the barely suppressed fear in his eyes. Turning to Gwen, he saw the same fear, this time in the tense set of her shoulders, and he realised that each loss they suffered was as painful as the first. And for some reason he found that comforting.

-o0o-

There was an instant of awareness. A flicker of knowing before the first breath. And it was filled with despair. His prayers had been ignored. The universe had brought him back. Back to a life where he was now truly alone. Back to a life without Ianto. Back to an endless existence where he would have to live with the knowledge of his failure. In that instant, he wished he was still buried in the grave Gray had given him beneath Cardiff, doomed to die and be reborn for eternity. It had been a fitting punishment for his failure of his brother. How much more fitting was it as penance for failing the love of his life, someone he should have been able to save.

His body spasmed, drawing in that first breath of life with a loud, shuddering gasp.

With the first breath came the physical pain: the pounding of blood in his temples, beating a hollow tattoo behind his eyes; his skin crawling as though riddled with maggots; his muscles burning, thronged by stabbing pains inflicted by a million daggers. More often than not, his resurrections were more painful than his deaths. He had never told anyone the full extent of the pain. Not even Ianto. But somehow the young man had known. And so, whenever Jack revived, he invariably found his head resting on Ianto's lap, his lover's arms wrapped tightly around him, helping him back to life, whispered words of comfort muttered into his hair in soothing Welsh tones.

This time there was nothing. No warm arms or soothing words, just the hard ground and only the ragged sound of his own breaths in his ears. But that was how it would be from now on. Because Ianto was gone. Grief exploded in Jack's chest, flowing through every fibre of his being. Grief robbed his limbs of the will to move. Grief soldered his eyes shut. His mind screamed in anguish, He's dead. I don't want a life without him. Why won't you bastards let me die? Only his own screams echoed back.

“Jack.”

A voice, a voice that couldn't be real. So, this was to be his fate, haunted...no, tortured by the voice of the man he had loved and lost. An eternity of insanity. Moaning, Jack pulled his knees to his chest, oblivious to the pain wracking his body, and huddled in a ball, willing the voice to cease.

“Cariad.”

The voice came again, broken and aching with longing. It sounded so close, so real, but Jack knew it couldn't be. He knew that if he opened his eyes, all he would see would be the shattered, burned remains of his lover, just as he had seen in his vision. He couldn't bear it. Wouldn’t bear it. He screwed his eyes even more tightly closed.

“Jack, please...” A desperate plea.

So, this was to be his punishment, to face the consequences of his failure. It wasn't enough that the powers-that-be make him live for an eternity in the knowledge that he had failed Ianto; no, they wanted him to have the image of Ianto's destroyed once-blue eyes imprinted on his memory for all time.

At last, defeated and determined to finally get on with his penance, Jack rolled onto his back and hesitantly opened his eyes, preparing to wince at bright sunlight. There was darkness, a blue-black sky punctuated by faint points of lights canopied above him. A thin sliver of moon cast a pale eerie glow across the landscape. He had been dead for hours. His injuries must have been severe, he realised absently, for so much time to have passed. With a groan of pain he pulled himself up until he was sitting, legs stretched out in front of him. He looked to his left, seeing the dark outline of the SUV silhouetted against the night sky. He was still on the golf course, then. Where was the Mericae? Where was Gwen? With a shiver of fear, he wondered if the Mericae had taken Gwen as well. Before the thought had even fully formed, he heard the voice again.

“Jack.”

It was time to face his daemon. Slowly he turned his head in the direction of the voice, his eyes falling to the grass, looking for the outline of Ianto's broken body. Instead, clearly visible even in the pale moonlight, he could see the young man sat, crossed-legged, a few feet away. Face pale, his dark blue eyes, almost black in the moonlight, stared unblinking at him. A ghost. Jack's heart stopped. He couldn't move. He couldn't look away. He knew if he did, the ghost would vanish forever.

“Ianto?” The question caught in his throat. Ianto's mouth twisted. Jack could see moonlit tears glistening on his cheeks.

“Why did you do that?” Ianto asked, his quiet voice loud in the silent night. “Why did you throw yourself in front of the Mericae? You got yourself killed because of me.”

Whatever question Jack had been expecting, that wasn't it. Where were the accusations of failure? He frowned in genuine confusion.

“I....I wanted to save you,” he answered haltingly. “I wanted to save the man I love. And I would do it again if I got the chance.” He felt a sob rise in his chest. “But I won't get another chance, will I? I failed. I wasn't able to protect you. I failed you. And I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Yan. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.” The words spilled out, a litany of helplessness and grief. Jack's sight blurred with tears, the figure of Ianto lost amongst them.

And then, wondrously, warm arms were clasped around him, Ianto's own tears falling warm and wet on his cheeks. Lips pressed tenderly to his forehead and cheeks before searching out his mouth in a long kiss filled with hope and love. Jack's arms searched out Ianto, pulling the young man to him, his hold fierce and possessive, his hands tearing at Ianto's shirt, desperately needing the reassurance of the warm skin beneath.

With a moan of desire and longing, Ianto pushed Jack back onto the grass, his hands responding in kind, burying themselves beneath the tattered remains of Jack's shirt. After a moment, his mouth lifted from Jack's to follow the path of his hands, teasing Jack's chest with his tongue while his hands continued their journey downwards, pausing only to deftly unbutton the charred remnants of Jack's pants. Ianto smiled against Jack's stomach as he felt Jack buck against his hand at his first touch. He had his lover back. His soulmate.

Ianto lifted his mouth from Jack just long enough to whisper,

“You didn't fail me, cariad, you saved me.”


	13. Chapter 13

“A work's outing?” Gwen's incredulous squawk echoed around the Hub. She looked down from her perch at her workstation towards the sofa where Jack was currently sprawled in a white tee, braces hanging from his waistband, one of which was being played with by Ianto, whose head was resting on Jack's knees, his legs dangling over the padded leather arms.

It had been three days since the events on the golf course. Two days since Gwen had had to spring Jack and Ianto from the police cells after being arrested for indecent exposure in a public place. Apparently, the groundsman from the golf course had been less shocked by the state of the 8th fairway, than by the discovery of two naked men, sleeping peacefully in each other’s arms on the grass. It had taken several heated calls to Andy and some nifty fiddling of the station's security cameras to put things right. And that didn't even begin to cover the amount of hacking a very red-faced Ianto had had to do on his return the Hub to expunge the arrest records.

And on the surface everything was fine. Jack had been saddened when he heard of the Mericae's demise. It had been an innocent, undeserving of its fate, but Ianto couldn't help but feel that it had been a kinder fate than being locked up in the basement of the Hub for the rest of eternity. Jack and Ianto had spent the last two days hunting Weevils, reclaiming an alien artefact that turned out to be the Raxicoricofallapatorian equivalent of an air freshener, making love every chance they got, and very definitely not talking about what had happened on the golf course. Ianto was going crazy. It wasn't as if he wanted to dissect every word and action that had happened out there, but Jack was acting as though that particular death had never happened. And that in itself told Ianto that that death had been anything but ordinary.

“I thought it might be a nice idea. Other companies do it. Why not us?” Jack sounded a little disgruntled. He hadn't expected whoops of joy but a little enthusiasm might have been nice. Even Ianto was looking at him with disbelieving eyes.

“Because we're Torchwood, and we can't just bugger off for a week in the Brecon Beacons just for a laugh,” Gwen argued. A team outing meant time away from Rhys and she didn't want that at the moment; for some reason she needed him near.

Ianto winced at the mention of the Brecon Beacons. The last trip they had taken up that way was one he preferred to forget. Not that he ever could.

Jack scowled. “I'm not talking a week,” he said patiently. “I'm talking one day. Tomorrow. There's no Rift activity predicted. Let's just go to the beach and pretend we're normal...the four of us.”

Gwen's brow wrinkled delightfully.

“I'd assumed you'd want to bring Rhys,” Jack explained cheerily, “but we can do a threesome. What do you think, Yan?”

“Why not,” Ianto replied. “Gwen's a great kisser.”

Gwen looked scandalised.

“I have never kissed you!” she spluttered indignantly.

“Ah, but I've kissed you.” Ianto smirked at the memory. “Just the once. With Jack looking on. With tongues,” he said significantly, arching one eyebrow. “It was quite something.”

“I was catatonic. It doesn't count,” Gwen countered hotly, although she was smiling.

“You couldn't move. There's a difference,” Ianto teased, sitting up and leaning back on Jack's chest. Jack immediately wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him closer.

Gwen knew she was beaten. “I am a great kisser, as it happens,” she conceded. “But neither of you will ever find out just how great,” she added sweetly.

“So what do you think, Yan? D'you fancy a trip to the beach?” Jack flashed a broad smile down at Ianto and winked coyly.

“I think it's a great idea,” he said loudly for Gwen's benefit, then added in a much lower voice for Jack alone, “It'll give us chance to talk.” His voice grew louder once more. “And given the week we've had, I expect everyone to be lathered up to the eyeballs in sun cream! Factor 50.”

-o0o-

And so it was that at nine-thirty the following morning, the black Range Rover pulled up sharply outside Gwen and Rhys' flat.

Jack leaned on the horn, earning a reproving look from Ianto, sprawled across the passenger seat, casually dressed in faded blue denim jeans, holed at the knee and frayed at the hem, and a grey t-shirt made soft by repeated washings, emblazoned with a swirling graphic design of the word 'Yes'. On the back, a flaking screen print announced concert dates and venues. Jack had called Ianto out on his casual attire as they dressed at Ianto's flat, having eschewed the delights of Jack's bunker in the Hub for the more comfortable surroundings of Ianto's king-sized bed.

“This is a new side to you, Ianto Jones. Why do you never dress this far down in the Hub? Those jeans are hot.” To emphasise his point, Jack had laid a hand on Ianto's denim-clad backside, squeezing playfully.

“That's why,” Ianto had replied dryly, moving out of Jack's reach and pulling on his T-shirt simultaneously. “You have enough trouble exercising self-control as it is.”

Jack had laughed, pulling Ianto in for a kiss, the net result being they were half an hour late picking Gwen and Rhys up.

Jacked blared the horn a second time.

“This is supposed to be a day off, Jack,” Ianto scolded, “not a mission to save the world again. For God's sake, relax!”

“I hate waiting,” Jack grumbled, looking for all the world like a sulky five-year-old.

“I wouldn't have guessed,” Ianto said mildly, looking fondly on as Jack tapped his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel.

“Where are they?” Jack scowled, preparing to lean on the horn to deliver a third ear-shattering blast.

At that moment the door to the flat opened, Gwen and Rhys spilling onto the pavement. If Ianto in jeans was a surprise, then Gwen was a revelation. Gone were the habitual black jeans. In their place was a pair of long, lithe limbs starting in a pair of shocking pink cord wedges and finishing in a blue denim miniskirt which Ianto's mother would have more accurately described as a belt. Add that to a very skimpy halter top tied over what appeared to be an emerald green bikini. Inside the SUV, thankfully shielded by the tinted glass, Jack and Ianto's jaws hit the floor.

Jack lowered the window, leaning out and wolf-whistling, earning a grin from Gwen and a glare from Rhys, bringing up the rear in a pair of canvas long shorts and a blue shirt. He was lugging a rucksack (clearly his) and a fluorescent pink beach bag that had clearly been carefully chosen to match Gwen's heels.

“You do realise we are going to a beach in South Wales and not the Med, right?” Jack called out.

“Sod off, Jack.” Gwen stuck her tongue out childishly. “Do you know how rare it is I even get to see a sandy beach, let alone dress for one? Don't spoil my fun, Harkness, or you will regret it.” She flung open the rear door of the SUV, clambering in and pulling Rhys bodily in after her. Jack kept his eyes firmly fixed on the dash board, fighting the urge to glance in the rear view mirror and get an eyeful of the bits of flesh the skirt was almost covering. Ianto smiled, reaching across to give Jack's hand a squeeze.

“I'm very proud of you,” he said in a low voice, his own eyes blatantly flickering up to the rear view mirror.

Jack saw the glance and coughed. Ianto grinned sheepishly,

“Gay, not dead,” he said under his breath. “Did you know she had legs like that? No, I don't want to know. Let's assume you didn't.” Seeing that Gwen had settled herself into a more decorous position, Ianto turned round in his seat.

“So, Rhys, Gwen tells me you have this thing for Kelly Le Brock. Listen, mate, I can't do anything about a whistle, but I do have a stopwatch you can borrow...”

It took several minutes of smacking a choking Jack on the back before he was fit to drive, and a full ten miles before Gwen finished cuffing Ianto about his head from the back seat every chance she got.

-o0o-

“So, where are we going?” Gwen asked as the miles slipped away, taking them further and further up the coast, away from Cardiff.

“A little place I know. A nice beach, very private...” Jack looked thoughtful. “At least it was last time I went there.”

“And how long ago was that?” Gwen asked, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach.

“1976,” Jack replied.

“Jack, it could be the Welsh equivalent of Blackpool by now!” she groaned picturing greasy chip papers, discarded lolly sticks and kiss-me-quick hats.

“I doubt it.” Jack shook his head. “It's privately owned by St David's Hotel. I have an arrangement with the owner.”

Ianto shot him a sharp look, which Jack caught. He grinned.

“No, not like that. He had a bit of an issue with a weevil back in the day. I sorted it.” He winked. “I like that you're jealous, though.”

“I'm not jealous,” Ianto protested hastily, although the red tinge to his cheeks told a different story.

“St David's?” Gwen queried, momentarily distracted by Jack and Ianto's banter. “Is that the posh place? Where all the dignitaries stay?”

“Yep,” Jack confirmed. As he spoke, he turned the SUV into an entrance flanked by two white stone, square columns, each topped by a sphere. On one column, a discrete polished brass sign announced they were entering the domain of St. David's Hotel where trespassers would not be tolerated.

The paved drive wound down the slope towards the sea. After a couple of hundred meters, a second road split off, signposted to the hotel. Jack kept going, arriving a minute later in a small tarmac car park with room for just half a dozen cars.

“The beach,” he announced, switching off the engine.

Before Jack had even had time to unfasten his seatbelt, Gwen was already out of the car, crossing over to the low wooden fence so that she could look down onto the tiny beach beyond. And it was tiny, a narrow strip of creamy-yellow sand, sandwiched between two outcrops of low dark-grey rocks running down to the sea. It was deserted.

She turned to look at Jack, eyes shining.

“It's lovely.” Then she shivered. It may have been an idyllic setting but it was home to a cool sea breeze.

“It's more sheltered down on the beach,” Jack promised as he opened the back of the SUV and hauled out the most enormous wicker hamper Gwen had ever laid eyes on. Rhys darted over and grabbed one side, groaning as he took half the weight.

“Jesus, what the hell is in here?” he spluttered.

“Food, drink.” Jack shrugged. “Ianto went a bit mad, splurged at M & S.” Ianto looked at the floor, embarrassed.

“I like picnics,” he said defensively. “You can't go to the beach and not have a picnic.”

“Are there jam sandwiches?” Gwen asked suddenly, her eyes glazing over at her own fond memories of childhood trips to the beach.

Ianto looked shocked and more than a bit affronted. “Of course. What kind of picnic would it be without jam sandwiches? Strawberry or raspberry? Take your pick.”

-o0o-

Three hours later the wicker hamper had practically been scoured clean. The jam sandwiches had lasted barely beyond laying out two picnic blankets in the shelter of the rocks where, Gwen was thankful to find, the cool breeze from the car park failed to penetrate. The lavish spread Ianto had laid on lasted a good deal longer. Driven by rosy childhood remembrances, Gwen had made a token attempt to paddle but the icy cold sea had sent her squealing back to the warmth of the sand. Now they were sat, sprawled across the blankets, revelling in the warm midday sun, drinking from bottles of chilled beer, and steadily getting very, very drunk.

Suddenly Rhys reached across to his rucksack, pulling it close. Feeling around inside, he finally pulled out a digital camera, waving it gleefully in front of Jack.

“Right then, company photo,” he said briskly with a grin. “To commemorate the one day nothing Rift-related happened in Cardiff.”

Jack groaned.

“Oh, come on Jack,” Gwen goaded him. “It was you that wanted one day of us being normal. This is what normal people do. Have photos that aren't just screen captures from the CCTV in the Hub.”

Jack flushed, thinking guiltily of the picture he carried in his wallet, a screen grab of Ianto garbed in a charcoal grey suit, holding a cup of coffee in one hand and his stopwatch swinging provocatively in the other. What a night that had been.

He glanced across to Ianto, but the young man merely stared back, giving nothing away.

“What the hell,” Jack said after a moment. “I can do normal.” There was a snort of laughter from Gwen, echoed by Ianto, at the very idea of Captain Jack Harkness doing 'normal'. With a wide grin, Jack grabbed Gwen and Ianto's arms, dragging them towards him. He laid an arm across each of their shoulders, pulling them in so their heads were close together.

“That do ya?” he laughed to Rhys. Swiftly Rhys raised the camera and took a shot. He looked down at the display and turned it round to face the other three. Ianto and Gwen chuckled at the image but Jack's laugh quickly died away. They looked so happy, all of them. Not just Gwen and Ianto, but all of them. The pain and guilt that had stared back at him from behind his eyes every time he had looked in the mirror for the past year was gone. For the first time in more years than he could remember, he looked...normal.

A slow smile spread across his face. “Let's go to the hotel,” he said impulsively, with a swift, intense glance in Ianto's direction.

“Wh... what?” Gwen stammered, wrong-footed by the sudden change of topic.

“Look, we've all drunk too much, and there's no Rift activity scheduled for the next twenty-four hours. Let's get a couple of rooms at St David's.” Jack hoped they'd not been paying attention. While it was true Gwen, Rhys and Ianto had put away far more than a couple of beers apiece, he, as usual, had barely touched a drop.

“St. David's?” Gwen practically squealed. “But it's five star!”

Ianto levelled a curious stare at Jack. He knew full well Jack was nowhere close to being over the limit, so why the big gesture?

Jack ignored the stare and shrugged.

“We deserve it. Torchwood can pay. Can't it, Yan?” The final question was directed at Ianto and was accompanied by a sly wink.

“You're the boss,” Ianto replied with a touch of a smile. A night with Jack in a luxury hotel? Not something he was about to turn down. Maybe his half-hearted grumbles at the Hub accommodations had been taken on board. Not that he minded Jack's bunker really. He didn't mind where he was, as long as Jack was there too.

“Yeah!” Gwen cheered, tugging on Rhys' hand like an excited five-year old. “Can we go check in now?”

Rhys looked apologetically at Jack and Ianto, who were smirking at Gwen's over-exuberance.

“I must apologise for my wife.” He smiled fondly. “A lovely little thinker, but a bugger when she's pissed,” he quoted.

Ianto let out a snort of laughter.

“Nice one, Bruce,” he replied, the words almost lost amongst his howls of laughter.

Gwen, still pulling impatiently at Rhys' hand, looked baffled.

Jack leaned across to Ianto, who was wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. “You're going to explain that to me later, aren't you?” he whispered.

Ianto planted a stinging kiss on Jack's lips.

“Absolutely.”

-o0o-

It was a short walk from the beach along the coast path to the five star St. David's hotel, an imposing five-storey 1920's Art Deco building with pristine white stucco walls combining stark verticals with sweeping curves, its window frames picked out in glossy black. Seated on the edge of the sea, it looked completely incongruous, like a Poirot film set. Its remoteness was one of the reasons it was frequented by the rich and the famous, housing film and rock stars and wealthy businessmen in equal measure.

Needless to say, the concierge was somewhat taken aback when four sandy jean and t-shirt clad individuals fell though the revolving door into the marble lobby.

Gliding forward across the mirror-polished floor, an expression of distaste and concern on his ruddy face, he asked with all the hauteur that only a concierge of a five-star exclusive hotel could command,

“May I help you?” His gaze travelled up and down each of them in turn, his nose elevating higher and higher in the air.

Gwen giggled, immediately quelled by a fierce look from Rhys, his face was beetroot in embarrassment. Jack, on the other hand, stepped forward, towering over the much smaller-framed concierge, and said imperiously, with an overt fake posh accent, “My friends and I require two rooms for the night. Your finest, naturally. The Emerald and Sapphire Suites should suffice.”

Trying desperately to stifle a giggle of his own, Ianto watched as the concierge practically withered in the face of Jack's commanding presence. Nevertheless, he made a last ditch attempt to regain control of the situation. The man sniffed and said pointedly, “St David's does not allow just anyone to occupy their rooms. We have a reputation to protect.”

Jack smiled thinly, making Ianto shiver. The concierge was treading on very dangerous ground indeed.

“Jack, mate...” Rhys put in, sensing that he might be spending the evening with bleeding knuckles if things carried on the way they were heading.

Jack turned the dangerous smile on Rhys, who held his hands up in surrender and shuffled behind Gwen.

“Mr…?” Jack enquired smoothly.

“Talbot,” the concierge replied, edging away from the imposing American.

“Mr Talbot, I think if you check your records for Captain Jack Harkness, you'll find my friends and I are not just anyone.”

Mr Talbot backed quickly away from Jack towards the reception desk, only to find Jack close on his heels, the wide dangerous smile fixed firmly in place. Ianto could see the little man breathe a sigh of barely contained relief as he put the desk between himself and Jack. There was the quiet tapping of keys as the concierge accessed the computer. Jack's smile grew wider as he saw Mr Talbot blanch at the information on the screen. Mr Talbot swallowed audibly, clearing his throat.

“Er... Captain Harkness, sir. My mistake. My apologies for not recognising you. The Emerald and Sapphire Suites, of course. They are both available this evening.” As he spoke, he amended the booking on the screen. The president of a little known African state that was due to occupy the Sapphire Suite that evening would be finding himself in the slightly inferior Ruby Suite for his visit. “Would that just be the two rooms, sir?” He glanced at the party of three men and one woman, immediately taking in Gwen and Rhys' wedding rings, and did the math.

Jack's smile grew, if possible, more dangerous, and he pulled Ianto to his side, casually draping his arm across Ianto's shoulder. On cue, Ianto leaned into Jack until their hips were touching, the inference unmistakable.

“Two rooms will be fine,” Jack confirmed. “Mr and Mrs Williams can take the Sapphire Suite, and my partner and I will take the Emerald Suite.” A subtle but distinct emphasis on partner.

Mr Talbot gave an abrupt nod, and programmed the room keys, handing one to Rhys and the second to Jack.

“Fourth floor penthouse,” he explained. “The lift is to the left. I'll get Paul to show you up. He can take up your luggage.” He beckoned to a smartly dressed young man in period bellhop uniform.

“No luggage,” Jack said easily. “Travelling light.”

Gwen giggled loudly. Mr Talbot smiled weakly.

“Well, enjoy your stay.”

Paul led them to the lift, Gwen leaning drunkenly against Rhys. Inside, the lift was a masterpiece of polished brass and mirrors. The short journey was only punctuated by the repeated giggles of Gwen. Jack and Ianto exchanged an amused look. It looked like Rhys was going to have his hands full for the afternoon.

The lift deposited them in a short hallway, plushly carpeted, a small occasional table positioned at the end, bearing a vast arrangement of flowers. Two doors opposed each other, each leading to a suite beyond. The bellhop stood expectantly just beyond the two doors. With a grin, Jack reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of notes. Extracting a ten pound note, he pressed it into Paul's hand. The young man's face lit up and he gave a respectful salute before disappearing back into the lift. Ianto allowed the lift doors to close before he turned to Jack.

“You've stayed here before,” he said accusingly. Jack nodded.

“On occasion. It's useful to have a bolt hole where no-one would think to look for you. Besides, I own it,” he confessed with a guilty smile.

“You what?” Ianto spluttered, his voice a whole octave higher than normal. Gwen blinked in shock.

“I bought it back in the thirties, before the war. It was a run-down shell of a place. A whole family of weevils in residence. Torchwood had me on a pretty short leash back then. It was something I could call mine, somewhere to hide out when it all got too much. I got it done up in the seventies...” His voice trailed off. That was a secret he wasn't ready to share yet. How would Gwen, and especially Ianto, react when they found out he had a daughter and grandson living? The hotel had been an idea for supporting Alice and her mother. A way of getting out of Torchwood for good. But before it had been completed, Lucia had found out about his immortality and left him, taking Alice.

“Anyway,” he picked up briskly, “the upshot is, I own a hotel, and it's a nice little earner. It helps support... my projects.” He didn't spell it out. There was no need to raise the spectre of Flat Holm today.

Ianto cocked his head to one side, studying Jack's expression. There was clearly more to it than he was saying. Jack smiled at him, his eyes asking to let the matter drop. Ianto smiled in return. Whatever it was, it wasn't something he needed to know today.

“So what's the plan?” Rhys asked, manfully supporting Gwen, who now appeared on the verge of collapsing right there in the corridor.

“How about we meet up for dinner at 7.30? It looks like Gwen could use a nap.” Jack chuckled. “I wouldn't say no to one either.” He deliberately evaded Ianto's eyes.

“A nap, right.” Rhys smirked. He slotted the key card into the door beside him and pushed it open, manoeuvring Gwen through the open doorway. Raising his hand in a wave, he pushed the door closed, leaving Jack and Ianto alone in the corridor.

-o0o-

“A nap, huh?” Ianto said, his face all wide-eyed innocence.

Jack gave a mock yawn. “Afternoon naps are good for your health. Everybody says so.”

“They do, do they? And how long a nap do they prescribe?”

Jack looked at his wrist band. One thirty.

“Oh, five or six hours,” he said confidently.

“It's fortunate I remembered this then,” Ianto commented, reaching into his jeans pocket, pulling out a familiar, battered stopwatch and waving it in Jack's face with a wicked smile. “I'd hate for us not to get the full quota.”

Jack grasped the dangling stopwatch and held it against Ianto's chest pushing him back against the door. He pressed an urgent kiss to Ianto's mouth, his tongue laving against Ianto's lips until they parted to give him access. Ianto moaned against Jack's mouth, immediately aroused, his hips pushing urgently against Jack's. Without breaking the kiss, Jack fumbled with the room key, releasing the door so that it swung backwards into the room beyond. Jack kept Ianto's back pressed firmly to the door, gently persuading the young man to step backwards, following the arc of the door.

Jack raised his head to draw a long shuddering breath. He pulled Ianto away from the door until he could swing it shut. It slammed home, accompanied by a reassuring click as it locked behind them.

Panting slightly, Ianto looked around the room. It was breathtaking. The Art Deco soft furnishings in black, gold, white and muted purple tones that adorned the spacious room were offset by modern angular furniture and top of the range audio and visual equipment. Opposite the door Ianto could see a second doorway into a cavernous en-suite tiled in local Welsh slate. At the far end of the room was a pair of French doors leading out to a roof terrace with views across the rocks to the sparkling blue sea beyond. Taking centre stage at the heart of the room was the biggest bed Ianto had ever seen, dressed in crisp white cotton. He crossed the room, taking in every detail, finally coming to rest besides the bed.

He turned back to Jack, waiting by the door, eyes shining.

“It's amazing. I've never seen a room like it.”

“Screw the room,” Jack said thickly, his voice heavy with desire. “I want you.” In two steps he was across the room, pushing Ianto backwards onto the soft white quilt, following him down until he was laid above the younger man, his mouth covering Ianto's. The kiss was urgent and needy, bruising Ianto's lips. Ianto closed his eyes, revelling in the sensation, opening his mouth to give Jack entry, his own tongue battling with Jack's for supremacy. One hand pressed into the quilt beside Ianto's head; Ianto felt Jack's other hand pulling wildly at his T-shirt, demanding access to the heated flesh beneath. Ianto lifted both hands, working them beneath Jack's shirt and pulling it upwards. For a moment, it tangled around their faces, their fused lips denying its release. Then Jack pulled away and the material slipped between them, bunching around Jack's wrist where his hand connected with the quilt. With an impatient gasp, Jack yanked it free, sending it sailing onto the lush carpet.

Ianto's hands feasted on the smooth skin of Jack's back whilst he raised his head, his tongue trying to reach the sensitised skin of his chest. Jack moaned as Ianto's tongue found its target, laving one puckered nipple in broad sweeping circles.

“Not fair,” he muttered between clenched teeth. In a sudden movement, he rolled over, pulling Ianto on top of him, reversing their positions. Before Ianto had time to react, Jack had swept the grey T-shirt over Ianto's head, consigning it to the floor alongside his own. Then, drawing Ianto closer, his mouth began its own exploration of Ianto's burning skin.

“Jack!” Ianto gasped his back arching as Jack's mouth fastened over one nipple, worrying the flesh with his teeth.

Jack grinned against Ianto's chest. He allowed one hand to fall from Ianto's back, pushing it between their hips, looking for Ianto's fly. His hand met with Ianto's engaged on a similar quest. Their fingers clasped and for a moment they paused. Jack's head fell backwards until his eyes locked with Ianto's, his own passion mirrored in Ianto's slate-blue depths.

“How can I want you so much?” Jack asked in wonderment, fanning his fingers across Ianto's back possessively.

“I've been asking myself the same question,” Ianto said with a shaky laugh. “You're like a drug. The more I touch you, the more I want. I'm an addict.” He leaned forward touching his lips lightly to Jack's throat, teeth grazing the soft skin. Jack shuddered

“What's the cure?” he murmured, throwing his head back to allow Ianto mouth to trace a path to his ear.

Ianto brought his mouth to Jack's ear, his tongue darting into the shell of his ear before sucking momentarily on his earlobe. An inarticulate noise escaped from the back of Jack's throat.

“There isn't one,” Ianto whispered, gasping as Jack took advantage of his distraction to free the button of Ianto's jeans and find the flesh he'd been searching for.

“Glad to hear it,” Jack said wickedly, watching with satisfaction as Ianto's eye's glazed over, his lover's hips bucking beneath his hand, in search of more intimate contact.

“I think we're still a little overdressed for this party,” Jack said matter-of-factly. Wordlessly Ianto nodded, unable to think of anything but the radiating shivers of pleasure Jack was generating with his touch. Carefully Jack used his free hand to manoeuvre Ianto into a standing position. Following him until they were both upright. Ianto's hand frantically tore at the fastening of Jack's jeans, releasing the button and zip and pushing the material past his hips. Jack shimmied until the denim reached the floor, stepping out. A second later his boxers joined them on the floor. A few moments later Ianto's jeans and boxers were similarly discarded. For a long moment Jack looked at the extraordinarily beautiful sight of his lover's body, already glistening with the fine sheen of sweat, desperate for his touch, head thrown back, eyes closed, waiting, just waiting to receive him. He took a step forward until flesh met flesh, touching, shoulders, chests, hips, calves. He clasped one arm around Ianto's shoulders, pulling him back onto the bed and across the quilt until they lay hip to hip in the centre of the vast expanse of white.

“Lie still,” he ordered softly.

Pushing up on one elbow, Jack traced the lines of Ianto's body with his fingers and mouth, starting at his temples, down his nose and chin, the hollow of his throat, the planes of his chest, working ever downwards, marvelling in the sheer beauty of his lover's form. Then the fingers ceased their downward journey, just short of their goal and instead began again from his feet, burning a steady path upwards. For every centimetre that Jack's fingers and mouth travelled, a shudder of want tremored Ianto's body. Wave after wave of desire spiralling out from the one place Jack refused to visit. Ianto arched, straining upwards, desperate for Jack's touch, his fists clenched into the quilt, his digging fingers deep into the down, his mounting frustration making his breaths short and frantic.

“Please...Jack...cariad.” A desperate plea.

And because Jack could not bear to see his lover suffer, he gave him exactly what he wanted.

-o0o-

Ianto was woken by the soft afternoon sunlight slanting across the room onto his pillow. He yawned and stretched, finding his movements impeded by Jack's head resting heavily on his chest. The older man was, God help him, snoring contentedly, a sound so unusual that Ianto was almost tempted to wake him up and tell him, like an exited child impatient to show off the latest car in his collection. He fought the impulse and smiled, glancing instead across to the ornate clock sat on a bureau against the wall. Six-thirty. In a few minutes he would have to wake Jack and dress for dinner. God, how formal that sounded, as if the period of the building was somehow dictating his words and actions. Not that there had been anything elegant and restrained about the last five hours, he thought, almost blushing at the memory. All their previous encounters seemed like mere foreplay to this afternoon's activities. Jack had taken him to new heights of pleasure he hadn't realised existed, his lovemaking both tender and forceful, allowing Ianto no respite until he had screamed Jack's name into the afternoon silence, uncaring of who might hear. Then it had been his turn, showing Jack that he was not just capable of receiving pleasure but bestowing it as well. Finally, sated beyond words, they had fallen asleep in each other’s arms, content.

Ianto felt Jack stir, raising his head, blue eyes blinking sleepily. Ianto smiled softly at the sight. “Hello, sleepyhead. Enjoy your nap?”

Jack rolled away stretching, cat-like, yawning wide, before rolling back and clasping his arm around Ianto's waist, his head tucked into his shoulder.

“Immensely. You?” His look was long and languid, his brief period of sleep the last thing on his mind.

“Best nap I've had in years,” Ianto replied truthfully. His eyes held Jack's for a moment and he said gently, “We need to talk...about the golf course.”

Jack shook his head.

“No, we don't.”

“Jack.” Ianto pulled himself into a half sitting position, leaning against the pillows. Jack sighed, rolled away, and took a similar position. Ianto felt the loss of contact keenly but pushed on.

“Something really scared you out there, and I don't mean the vision. When you came round...it was like the time I found you in hell. It terrified me.” Jack's sojourn in hell was something else that was never discussed, this time by mutual agreement. Jack met Ianto's eyes, saw the fear there. He swallowed, trying to find the right words.

“I...thought you were dead,” he began, hesitantly at first but with increasing strength. “In that first instant, where my mind takes its first thought and the memories of the previous life come flooding back, all I could think was that you were dead and I couldn't face this life on my own. I wished for death. I wished so hard, Yan. I wanted to be where you were, and the Universe wouldn't let me.” The eyes he finally turned to Ianto's were filled with grief. Ianto had moved across the bed and pulled Jack into a clinging embrace before the final trembling words had left the air.

“Cariad, you were with me. The Universe left you where you were supposed to be. Don't ever wish for death, Jack. I will always be here to come back to.” He pressed comforting kisses into Jack's hair, willing him to understand. “I will always be here,” he leaned down pressing another kiss, this time over Jack's heart. “No matter what.” Then he brought his mouth to Jack's, possessing it with a kiss of such intensity that they were both left fighting for breath.

As they broke apart, Jack gave a small smile. “I suppose you're going to tell me we should get up now,” he said wistfully.

“Yes, sir,” Ianto said dutifully, as his hand snaked purposefully down beneath the duvet.

Needless to say they were a little late for dinner...

-o0o-

The flames leapt high, lancing into the night sky, the firelight dimming the stars now barely visible in the inky heavens. The firelight cast a ruddy glow across the faces of the four, the two couples sat side-by-side, leaning back against a spar of driftwood.

“I could arrest you for this,” Gwen said. “It's illegal to light fires on the beach, you know.”

“You could,” Jack agreed with a nod, “but I think we've had enough dealings with the police this week, don't you? Besides, it's only a little fire, and we dug a pit and everything.”

Gwen looked at the bonfire towering in front of her. Not her definition of a small fire, and she doubted it would be to Cardiff's finest, if they found them. It had been a nice suggestion of Jack's though, a camp fire and a few midnight beers back on the beach before they turned in. God knows where Jack and Ianto had found all the wood. Her expedition with Rhys had yielded two branches and a small pile of twigs. Still, she though with an inward grin, it wasn't as if they'd spent the whole time searching for wood. She snuggled back against Rhys' chest, feeling his arms tighten around her, and yawned widely.

“Tosh would have loved this,” she said, staring dreamily into the fire. “Not the fire, just the whole, having a day being sociable. She was always trying to get us to go for a night out.”

“The pool tournament,” Jack remembered with a grin, his teeth scarily white in the darkness, making him appear almost demonic in the firelight. “Although I'm pretty sure that was just a ruse to get a date with Owen.”

Ianto, leaning against Jack, gave a soft snort of laughter. “And he was totally oblivious.” His voice sobered. “A shame. They'd have been great together.”

There was a long silence, broken only by the crackle of burning wood and the distant call of a night bird.

“I miss them,” Gwen said sadly, glad her face was hidden by the darkness. “I can't believe how much I miss them.”

She felt Ianto reach across to give her arm a comforting squeeze, letting her know that he shared her feelings.

“I guess we've never really had a proper send off,” Jack said thoughtfully. “Funerals are all well and good but you don't really get to say goodbye.”

He coughed almost self-consciously and lifted his bottle of beer into the air. “Toshiko Sato and Owen Harper. Our colleagues but more importantly our friends, who gave their lives doing a job they loved, so that we could all sleep safe at night. We'll always miss you, and we'll...I'll...never forget you. And Owen? Wherever you are, I hope you've finally seen sense and claimed Tosh as your own. To Tosh and Owen!”

“Tosh and Owen!” The toasts came from either side, quiet and heartfelt as they remembered. There was the chinking of glass as bottles met in mid-air. The silence resumed, but somehow it seemed less one of sad remembrance and more one of fond reminiscence.

After a few minutes, Gwen gave a loud yawn, quickly stifled. Jack and Ianto looked on in amusement as, seconds later, another even wider yawn overtook her.

“Sorry, I need sleep,” she apologised, “and preferably a feather bed.” A third yawn overtook her, this one so wide her eyes watered. “Rhys, take me to bed,” she said dramatically.

Jack gave a hastily smothered snort of laughter. Gwen glared at him.

“Piss off, Harkness. I know you're only waiting for us to leave so you can have your wicked way with the tea boy. Ianto, if you'll excuse us?”

Ianto gave an uncharacteristic giggle and waved them away. “Be my guest,” he said smoothly. “Goodnight.”

Rhys pushed Gwen away, pulling himself stiffly to his feet. “Right, well, see you tomorrow,” he said somewhat uncomfortably before turning to look at Gwen sprawled drunkenly in the sand at his feet.

“Come on, wench,” he grinned, reaching down and pulling her up by her arms. Gwen found herself being dragged to her feet, then, before she could protest, Rhys had lifted her up and dumped her unceremoniously over his shoulder. She squealed a half-hearted protest.

“Liking the cave-man look on you, Rhys Williams,” Jack commented, leering at Gwen's discomfiture and Rhys' hitherto unseen bulging arm muscles. He opened his mouth to continue but caught withering glances from Gwen and Ianto alike and subsided, squeezing Ianto just a little bit tighter.

“I really don't know how you put up with him,” was Gwen's parting shot as she disappeared over the rocks. Jack had to admit she played the indignant school ma'am part to the hilt, but hanging upside down did dampen the effect somewhat.

-o0o-

“So, how do you put up with me?” Jack said easily, shifting his body so Ianto was cradled a little more intimately in his arms. He raised one hand and allowed his fingers to trace out the contours of Ianto's face, picked out in the red glow of the fire. He smiled as he felt the first shiver of wanting shake Ianto's frame.

“Well, to be honest, it's hard, Jack,” Ianto said teasingly, in the manner of a man admitting an unwelcome truth. “All the flirting, and the ex-girlfriends, ex-boyfriends and ex-whatevers littering the galaxy. Not to mention that ego and the vanity and the aversion to washing up...”

“Hey,” Jack interrupted. “I'm insulted. I don't have an aversion to washing up, I'm just not good at it. There, I've admitted there is something I'm not good at. But you have to admit I am pretty damn great at everything else.”

In the darkness, Ianto smiled. Lack of modesty. He knew he should have added lack of modesty to the list.

“Yeah, you are,” he admitted, capturing Jack's hand and holding it flat against his cheek beneath his own. “And I love you, and that's why I put up with you.” He turned his head so he could kiss Jack's palm. Felt the answering tremor.

“So are we all right now?” Jack asked, his hands now working beneath Ianto's t-shirt, stroking the warm skin. He felt Ianto shiver as the cool night air reached his skin. Or maybe it was him, he thought with wonderment, as his fingers elicited another quiver. Maybe it was just the effect of touching the man he loved. Maybe tonight he should say that out loud.

Ianto let the warmth of Jack's touch flow over him. A perfect touch on a perfect night; that told him all he needed to know. He didn't really need anything else.

“Yes, sir,” he said, lifting his head to receive Jack's kiss. “We are so all right.”


	14. Chapter 14

## Epilogue

_Day One_

There was a clatter as the flap of the letterbox settled back into place. The sound barely registered in Ellen Thompson's ears. A cold mug of tea, clasped between even colder fingers, sat untouched on the plain pine table. She had sat there all night, just as she had sat there every night for the past week. Every night since they had brought the news. He had been a lovely man, the young policeman. Untidy brown hair and an unlined face, but his eyes had been older than time. It wasn't the first time he'd had to give such news, she could tell. The words were well practised but no less sincere. I'm afraid I have some bad news... Bad news. It had shattered her world. Her daughter was gone. Dead. And they couldn't tell her how, or why, only that she was never coming home. We're doing all we can... Meaningless words, earnestly spoken. He wanted her to believe them, but she could tell by the expression in those old eyes that she would never know the truth. They wouldn't even let her see Katie's body. Too upsetting, they'd said. Serious injuries to her face. Better that she remember Katie the way she was.

But she hadn't even raised her head to look at her daughter's face that last day. If she'd known that that morning would have been the last time she would see Katie, she would have studied her face, imprinting each of the freckles Katie had hated so much on her memory. Instead, she'd been so absorbed in the bill, the latest in a line of red letters dropping through her letterbox, that she hadn't spared her daughter so much as a single glance. So absorbed with debts she couldn't pay. Debts that meant that she couldn't even afford to bury her daughter. The loan she had taken out yesterday with the Cole Brothers, to cover the funeral, was one she could never repay. Not with money anyway. It didn't matter though. Her baby was dead. It didn't matter what became of her now.

Woodenly, she rose from her chair, stiff from the long period of inactivity. She moved across the kitchen like a woman in her seventies, rather than just thirty-three years old, and stooped by the back door to pick up the plain manila envelope laying on the mat. Typed address. Formal. Probably another demand. Not that it mattered. The days of fighting to juggle pennies and keep a roof over their heads were over. The house could crumble to the ground now.

Ellen sank wearily back into her still warm chair, running a finger beneath the flap of the envelope, freeing the contents. Two pieces of paper fluttered out, landing face down on the table top. A folded sheet of crisp white A4 paper and a slip of creamy heavier quality paper. Picking up the sheet of A4, Ellen turned it over, unfolding it. There was a curious logo adorning the head of the paper, a T-shape formed from hexagons but in perspective, as if viewed along the axis of the paper. There was no company name, no address, only a hand-written note in beautiful, flowing, copperplate script.

> _Dear Ellen,_
> 
> _Please forgive my presumption in calling you by your first name. I realise that nothing I can say will make the pain you are going through now any easier. To lose a child is the greatest pain any parent can know, and I know that pain first hand. Whilst I cannot do anything to return Katie to you, I can tell you that the person responsible for Katie's death has been found and will not be able to hurt another child ever again._
> 
> _I know how hard you have fought to give Katie and yourself a good life, and I am sure that she would not want her death to mean that you give up that fight. The only way we have to honour our children’s memories is to keep fighting. I hope the enclosed will help you in your fight._
> 
> _My thoughts are with you,_
> 
> _Jack Harkness_

Ellen blinked. With a shaking hand she lifted up the second slip of paper and turned it over. It was a cheque for a sum of money that made her gasp, more than enough to clear every debt, including what she owed to the hateful Cole Brothers, with more to spare. She studied the cheque carefully. It seemed genuine enough. It was the same design as the cheques that were issued by her own bank. The issuing account did not belong to the mysterious Jack Harkness though, the signature, neat and precise, clearly said Siân Joeton. It appeared Katie had left her in the care of a couple of guardian angels. And, for the first time since PC Andy Davidson had knocked on her door, Ellen Thompson cried for the daughter she had lost.

-o0o-

Gwen Cooper came barrelling in through the cog door of the Hub at a run. She was late. She'd said she'd be in at half past seven and it was already after eight. That was what being married to an amorous Welsh man did for you. The smile Rhys had put on her face when they had woken at dawn was still plastered disgustingly across her features. Jack and Ianto would take one look and know exactly what she had been up to, she thought with a smirk. Still, it made a change from the last couple of days when they had been the ones wearing the happy, smutty, together smiles every time she entered a room. She didn't think she'd ever seen the pair of them so contented.

“Sorry I'm late,” she called, shrugging off her leather jacket and tossing it over the back of her workstation chair. “Traffic was bloody awful.”

There was silence, Jack and Ianto nowhere in sight. Gwen frowned. She glanced up in the direction of Jack's office and down to the kitchen area where Ianto's coffee machine stood. There was no sound, and more disturbingly there was no smell of Ianto's favourite blend of coffee in the air. They were out, and had been for some time. Damn, that meant she'd either have to make a dash to the coffee shop up on the quay, or break out the secret jar of instant she kept hidden in her locker. She was just weighing up the pro of better coffee from the coffee shop with the con of having to traipse out of the Hub to get it when her eyes fell on a yellow post-it note tacked to her monitor between the picture Rhys had taken on the beach two days before, and the one of Tosh and Owen laughing over some long forgotten joke.

> _Gwen,  
>  Gone to retrieve Mr William's hitch-hiker from the hospital. We'll be back by nine. Jack  
>  P.S. Ianto says don't you dare open that jar of instant. He'll know!_

Gwen chuckled. He would too. She glanced at the clock. Half-eight. If she left now she could get coffees and bacon sarnies all round, and be back for nine. She patted her jeans pocket and swore. Bugger, she'd left her cash back at the flat. A further pat of her back jeans pocket revealed the reassuring shape of her debit card. At least she could call in at the cash machine and get out a couple of tenners.

She picked up her jacket and looked about the Hub, smiling contentedly. It was too quiet, but somehow the absence of life was less threatening now, the ghosts just echoes of the past, looking on in silent approval.

Eventually new people would occupy the empty workstations, new voices would demand Ianto's magic brew to see them through the long night hours, but in the meantime there was Gwen Cooper, there was Ianto Jones, and most importantly there was Captain Jack Harkness, leading the charge. They were Torchwood, and even with just the three of them, they were still pretty damned unbeatable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading.


End file.
